High Maintenance
by daisyandphoebe
Summary: As a young father who's not sure where he belongs, Edward's just trying to get through each day. His daughter is his life and all he thinks he needs. When the girl with the broken oven and busted fire alarm flips his world around, will he invite her into his life? Will she choose to enter? First Place Judges' Choice, First Place Public Vote in the Ho Hey Contest.
1. Chapter 1

**High Maintenance**

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A/N: Thank you to myimm0rtal, who betaed this for us. We're grateful for your kindness, support and generosity.

Thank you also to Capricorn75 and VampsHaveLaws for hosting the Ho Hey Contest. Without them, this story would never have been written.

We also want to thank the judges, and everyone who voted for _High Maintenance!_

Love, BelieveItOrNot and thimbles.

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**Chapter 1**

"I like braids, Daddy," says the sweetest but most exasperating voice right now.

"We've been over this." I'm sitting on her bed. She's standing between my legs with her back to me as I'm gathering and trying to smooth her hair into a ponytail. Just after a bath, her hair is the softest thing I've ever felt, but this morning there are so many tangles it's like a horse's mane after a hard run. The knots keep jailing my fingers as I try to slide them through. It makes her screech out complaints.

"Emily wears braids."

"I can't braid." I think of Rosalie who _can_ braid, whom neither of us have seen in three months, who's off in L.A. trying to be a model, who promised Livvy she'd come back rich, which prompted Livvy to ask me if we were poor._ No,_ I told her. _We have everything we need._

"Every Friday, she has _two_ braids." She holds up two fingers, spreading them far apart. "They make her pretty like a princess. I never get braids."

"What's Masen Law Amendment number four?"

She takes a deep breath, her chest puffing up, and she gives a nod of her head with each word. "We don't compare ourselves to others."

I wrap the band once around her hair. "And while we're on the subject, what's Amendment number three?" I wrap the band a second time. She winces.

"Never go with strangers."

"Even if they have candy?"

"No."

I finish off the ponytail and pull it tight.

"I like Kit-Kats."

"No, you don't." I turn her around to face me. Her crooked smile is what I'm living for.

"Yes." She giggles, her eyes sparkling like the clearest blue swimming pool, just like her mother's. I can't help but be reminded of Rosalie when Livvy's eyes shine like this, can't help but be reminded of how I once loved Rosalie, even if I don't anymore, even if we haven't been together for four years. Not since we were eighteen and Livvy was one. Not since Rosalie yelled that we could never make it together and should just stop forcing it. Not since I agreed.

"And Starburst," she says.

"That garbage'll rot your teeth away. Show me your teeth."

She smiles big and then opens wide when I tell her to.

"Mm-hmm, yep, just as I suspected. You need to clean those chompers."

"What's Amendment One, Daddy?"

"You don't remember?"

"No." She smiles.

"You don't remember the first and foremost amendment?"

"What's foremost?"

"It means most important."

"What's the foremost amendment?"

I tap my chin and lift my eyes to the popcorn ceiling. "I love... sailboats." My gaze falls back to her.

"Nope."

"Ice cream?"

"Rots your teeth." She scrunches up her nose. That nose scrunch is me, that's what I do. That's not Rosalie. Her hair color's mine, too. Medium brown with a hint of red, or auburn, I guess.

"Hmm, it must be... I love..." I rub my nose against hers. "You."

"Yes!" She jumps up and claps.

"Plant one on me." Turning my head, I point to my cheek. She kisses it. Her lips are wet and smooshy and I love them. And as much as I love to see her happy like this, it makes me ache, too, because I know the world is not done letting her down. But I'll protect her from pain the best I can. Who else does she have? A mother in and out of her life? That's no parent. But even so, I'd never fight Rosalie over her right to see Olivia. Livvy needs her, even if part time.

I hold my daughter at her ribs and twist her. "I love this Bird."

"I love this dad."

Three months back Rosalie had swooped in to pick up Liv from kindergarten, both of them gone by the time I got there. It wasn't like I was afraid or anything; the teacher told me it was Livvy's mom who picked her up, but I was pissed. Not even the courtesy of a phone call to tell me she was in town, or coming to town. She talked a mile a minute that evening over dinner, telling us all about a photoshoot. Her first of many, she'd said. "I can do this," she said, twirling some blond strands around a finger, her nervous tell. "But I have to be in L.A. or it'll never work." And two weeks later she was gone again.

… … …

As soon as I see her fists burrowing into her eyes through the rearview mirror, I know what I'm in for—but what other option do I have? We've already had takeout twice this month, and I haven't budgeted enough money for more.

So I take a deep breath, gather up patience like the coins I'm scraping from the ashtray, and get out of the truck.

The day is fast-fading to dark grey, the sun in the overcast sky going under like a sinking ship.

"Come on, Bird." She purses her little bird lips at me as I unbuckle her and wait for her to clamber out of her car seat. It was that mouth that got her the nickname, reaching for the bottle, sucking before the nipple even met her lips. Just like a baby bird.

As soon as her feet hit the asphalt, her arms stretch. "Carry me."

Phantom pain shoots up my back, protesting after hours of squatting in front of a broken-down refrigerator, and then bending over a washing machine. My heart tells it to suck it up. "Sure, baby. But only into the store, okay?"

"Don't call me baby, Daddy." She's irritable, her voice already wavering on the edge of whining.

Scooping her up into my arms, I kiss her cheek. "Sorry. You're a big girl—I like to live in denial sometimes."

"What's denial?"

"It means I like to pretend you'll always be my baby."

Her head bouncing against my shoulder, a clammy arm hooked tight around my neck, I cross the parking lot, keeping my eyes peeled for idiot drivers.

"But babies can't read. So who would read to you?"

"True. That would be a predicament."

At the age of five, Olivia's already reading. Some nights as we lie in bed I'll rest the back of my head on my hands and ask her to read, closing my eyes, just listening to her voice as she choppy-reads her way through a picture book.

"What's a predica - predica-"

"Predicament. It means problem." The automatic doors open and I pause to let a woman push her cart out.

Setting Livvy on her feet, I offer her one handle of the plastic shopping basket.

Pouting, she shakes her head. Nice. She always wants to help with the basket, usually complaining if I don't offer it to her. I've got to get us in and out of here fast. It's only a matter of time before I'm dealing with a public tantrum.

I tell her that if she isn't going to hold the basket, she has to hold my belt loop so I can have both hands free.

I try to remember what I've already got in the fridge and cupboards that I can use up. Pasta, canned tomatoes, carrots ... "Spaghetti bolognaise work for you?"

"No."

"Well, Cheerful-bird, you'll have to make it work."

Moving through aisles, thinking of the recipe my mom taught me, I gather what I need. Ground beef. Garlic. An onion. A zucchini—"How's this one look?" I ask Liv, and she squeezes it, then nods her head. Some grated cheese. And then, in line, it starts.

"I want candy."

Why the fuck do supermarkets feel the need to display every candy bar in the known universe at the checkout?

Oh right, because they _want _your kid to start demanding it, and they're counting on you buying the junk to keep them from embarrassing you by throwing a tantrum if you so much as think about saying no.

"Not today."

"But I want a lollipop!"

"I know you do. But we're not here for those."

"Daaaaaaad."

The elderly lady behind me starts making tsk-tsk noises. Tension rises up my spine and into my shoulders. It's worse than when I was doing maintenance on that fridge.

"No."

"But I want one!"

I scrub a hand over my face, and crouch down so we're eye to eye. "Liv. I know, okay? I know you want a lollipop but we're not going to get one. Not today. Now, I know you're tired- "

"I'm not tired!" Her voice is becoming shrill, her fists bunched up tight, her eyes watering.

"Olivia. Enough. Please, don't ask me again."

She's crying now. Steel bands tighten around my chest. I blow out a breath and stand up.

Grey-haired tsky lady's voice is clear. She's not even trying to whisper. "That child needs a belt across her backside."

Deep breath. In. Out.

"In our day that kind of nonsense would never have been tolerated. Still, what do you expect? He's only a child himself. Probably on welfare. Bleeding this country dry of the taxes we paid all our working lives." More tsking. "History repeats itself if I know anything. It's just like Maria. Remember Maria? This one here'll probably end up just like her. No better off than her father. What hope does she have?"

Her husband clears his throat. I think he's shushing her, but the ringing in my ears is so loud I can't concentrate on his crotchety voice.

"Are you gonna belt me, Daddy?"

I look down at her, stunned out of my mind. Her eyes are round in actual fear. My heart falls. My head rages at the woman behind me. "No, Livvy-Bird. Never." I squeeze her hand.

"Makenna says her dad belts her."

Setting the basket down, I lift Livvy to the edge of the counter and look into her eyes. "I'm not Makenna's dad. I'm yours. I don't hurt you."

"It's not an amendment."

"Let's make it one. Amendment Eleven: we don't hurt each other." I hold out my hand and she shakes it.

The cashier asks me to please take my little girl off the counter. The old bat behind me tsks.

Feet on the floor, hand in mine, Livvy's crying again, quieter now. The silent cries, the ones she tries to hold back or hide, those are the ones that crack my insides. I push a hand through my hair, trying to keep my temper in check.

Not so long ago, I would have turned around and informed the sour-faced bitch that I was juggling full-time work while putting myself through college, one course at time, so I could give my daughter and myself a shot at a better life. I would have tried to explain that Liv was overtired, and was usually exceptionally well-behaved.

Now, I know better. No matter how much I argue, in her eyes I'd still be a deadbeat raising a brat who will end up a loser like me. I can't lie and say I don't care what she thinks, or that it doesn't cut deep—especially now that Livvy's old enough to understand what people are saying about her—but there's no point fighting it. People see my age and they make assumptions. I have to prove myself by life, not with words.

The girl at the checkout gives me a small smile as I unload the basket. While she rings everything up, I pull bills from my wallet and a fistful of coins from my pocket. I hand her the correct change, say a quiet thanks, and gather the groceries in one arm, while hoisting Livvy up with the other. Her arms wrap around my neck as I duck out through the automatic doors. We leave any continued tongue-clucks and head-shakes in our wake. That woman can have her judgement; we're not taking it with us.

"I want Mommy," Livvy says. Depleted of strength and out of ideas, I sing our song in her ear, quiet so only she can hear. "_All I know is something like a bird within her sang... All I know she sang a little while and then flew on..."_ The first time I sang this song to her was in the early hours of morning when she was eight weeks old. Rosalie was exhausted so I got up with Livvy. No matter how much I rocked and bounced her in my arms, she wouldn't stop whimpering. She wouldn't take a bottle, didn't need a change. So low in her ear I started singing _Bird Song_, the song that kept running through my mind.

"You and The Dead," Rosalie had said, an arm thrown over the comforter.

"So? It's working." I rubbed my nose on the softest cheek. "I might not be able to do anything else but I can sing you a song, can't I, Livvy-Bird?"

"I like it," Rosalie said. "Sing it again. Sing me back to sleep."

I've been singing it to Livvy ever since, whenever I need to get her to stop crying. It almost always works.

As I sing it now, a few lines into the song, she sings along. "_Laugh in the sunshine, sing, cry in the dark, fly through the night. Don't cry now, don't you cry, don't you cry anymore. La-da-da-da. Sleep in the stars, don't you cry, dry your eyes on the wind._"

When I was Livvy's age, Jerry Garcia died. My dad refused to shave and played Grateful Dead on our stereo for an entire month. It was my first memory of the band, but it was far from the last I heard of them. He played their albums throughout my childhood. They were always in the background as I helped him build tables, bookshelves, and chests of drawers. He taught me the difference between a dovetail joint and a tongue-and-groove joint to _Touch of Grey_.

"There's nothing wrong with manual labor," he'd tell me, as if I'd ever said there was.

Stopped at a light, two blocks from home, I check on Livvy through the rearview mirror. She's falling asleep, eyes blinking slow until they stop, cheeks streaked with dried up tears, her lips pushed into a pout, Sally jammed between her head and the car seat like a grubby, misshaped pillow.

My spine's still tight, my hands fisting the wheel hard, but my chest starts to relax as I recall how happy she was to rock that doll in her arms and call it hers. It was last year at Disneyland. My parents had taken us, insisted on it. I saved up money to buy the souvenir. In the Main Street shop, I'd told Livvy to pick any one thing she wanted. Anything. She chose the fourteen dollar red-headed rag doll. She won't go anywhere without her Sally.

… … …

Margaritaville. All lit up on the outside. I can hear the noise from the inside when someone opens the door. Fantastic.

I walk in alone.

Only a few diners still linger at tables finishing their meals. Everyone else is here for the bar, dark and crowded. A small band sets up in an even smaller area. Nobody'll dance, except maybe a couple of people who get too drunk to stop themselves. There's just not enough room.

I look around for familiar faces—spot a few guys I haven't seen in months. I find myself not even remotely interested in what they're laughing about, and I don't have anything to say. I'm on the verge of turning around and walking out the door.

"Edward, hi!"

Dark hair. Big, black-framed glasses. Easy smile. I can't place her. I can't remember her name, or why she knows me.

"Everyone's back there." She waves over her shoulder toward the end of the bar. "Do you want me to grab you a drink? I've got this round."

I hesitate, tapping the toe of one shoe against the other. I glance over her shoulder again, mentally trying to count the number of people jammed back there.

"It's all right," she says, her smile a little less bright. There's something that looks like understanding in her eyes. "We're not going round for round or anything. There's way too many of us. We'd be here all night, and puking all morning."

"Thanks. Just… any beer is good."

"Sure. And hey, I'm Angela. Ben's girlfriend."

I nod, my face heating a little. "Sorry, I-"

"Don't worry about it. We only met for a minute at your twenty-first. How's your little girl? Livvy, right?"

My smile sweeps up my face. "Yeah. Livvy. She's great."

"That's awesome. She sounds like a doll." She pats my shoulder, kind of clapping it like a guy friend would. "I should get these beers. You head on back."

"Edward! Daddy-man!" Emmett's hand slams down on my shoulder with almost enough force to push me through the scungy carpet and into the cement.

"Guys! Edward's here." He announces it like I'm a celebrity, but my celebrity status is due to being a guy who doesn't get out much, a guy their age, twenty-two, and the father of a five year old—it's not the kind of attention I want.

Hands jammed in my pockets, I nod at the various people calling my name, greeting me with alcohol-enhanced enthusiasm.

I get passed around, and I wonder if this is how Bird feels at a big family event. I'm shuffled between couples and trios of friends; some I haven't seen for well over a year; some, like Angela, I've met once or twice before; some I've never met at all and will probably never see again.

I'm not used to this—not used to keeping my gaze at eye level while I talk to people, not having to look away every minute or two to make sure that little ponytail is still bobbing around where I can see it, not searching out anything that could be a threat to her. And without that, it's like I have nothing to do with myself. My hands don't know where to go. My eyes don't know where to land. I let people talk _at_ me, nodding when I should, grinning when I should, laughing when I should.

Angela slips a Corona into my hand at some point, squeezing my arm before she wanders away. The first swallow tastes like escape, the second one guilt. The sips slow down and stop after that.

I make stilted small talk with a few guys from high school, guys I have next to nothing in common with these days. Mostly, they're still studying, juggling exams and girlfriends, part-time jobs and full-time partying, toking up. A few ask about Liv, but some of them seem to have forgotten about her, like she was an extra-credit college course or something—something I'd only have to deal with for a semester, and then life would be "normal" again.

I don't belong here.

It's becoming clear to me how much I rely on Livvy in social situations. The warmth of her little hand in mine, or her knee digging into the small of my back when she's tired enough to ask to be carried, or the way conversation tends to get directed through her. She's sometimes like a little shield that I deflect people with. It's partly—mostly, even—because I hate people talking as though she's not there, but if I'm honest, it's also a way of putting distance between myself and everyone else.

I'm listening to Ben tell a story about an arrogant professor, others nodding along, adding anecdotes of their own. People, even Angela, seem to have let me fade into the background. My beer's still half-full and getting warmer, when another dark-haired girl steps into my eyeline. I recognize her as the girl whose apartment I get called into odd jobs for. She lives in Carlisle's other complex, across town. The things I get called to fix over there are ridiculous, and a waste of Carlisle's money, but as long as I'm getting paid, I won't complain.

"Hey, you're my handsome handyman!" She's not wearing the typical jeans and T-shirt I'm used to seeing on her. She's in a short dress. And I realize a lot of the girls in here must be wearing skirts or dresses, but it's her dress I notice, her legs I notice.

I drag my eyes up her curves, up her neck, to her brown eyes.

If I were less awkward, I'd greet her in kind—_Hey, you're the cute, witty girl with the broken oven, and the window that keeps jamming, and the busted fire alarm that needed nothing but a battery-change._ But I'm not, so I don't.

"Isabella." My empty hand hangs too loose at my side. I slip it into my back pocket.

She grins like she's surprised that I remember. It's crazy, really—Carlisle's sent me over to her apartment four times in the last two weeks, and every time, she's chattered away at me about everything from the classes that put her to sleep to a band she just saw live. But here she is, smile huge, like my remembering her name is the best thing all night.

Dim lights from above shine over her long hair as she nods. "Yes! But you're not fixing things now, so you should call me Bella. How are you?"

I step away from Ben's circle and he notices, giving my shoulder a pat before melting back into his crowd. I'm starting to wonder if I look like someone who needs a back pat or an arm squeeze. I have to remember to smile more.

It isn't such a hard thing to do as I look at Bella, who's gazing at me with a lit-up face and a gleam behind her eyes like I'm someone she wants to know. She's not familiar with the "before and after" me and has no preconceptions. There's no understanding lip-twist, no pitying head-tilt, no "It's been too long, man," or "Where ya been hidin'?" She feels like a place to rest, a smooth spot in a rough sea.

"Great." I throw back my beer, finishing it off. "You? Got anymore, um, strange apartment problems?"

Her eyes fall to the floor as her whole body sways back and forth. The hem of her dress strokes her thighs. "I guess it's obvious I-"

"Hey, it's Handyman." The guy I recognize as one of Bella's roommates holds his hand out to me. "Seth."

"Loving my title," I say, giving his hand a shake.

Someone puts another beer in my hand. I look around to see who it was.

"Angela," Bella says. "She loves that sort of thing. Magic Beer Lady, or whatever."

I laugh but say I shouldn't drink, offering it out to her.

"No,_ I _really shouldn't. I mean I can't. Not twenty-one 'til September." She lifts to her toes and back down like a little girl, like Livvy.

"Bella's the baby." Seth throws an arm over her shoulder. She elbows his side.

"How is that possible when I'm the most mature?" She steps closer to me. My eyes take in her face, her eyes, her mouth, this girl—this beautiful girl—who I'm pretty sure, before Seth interrupted, was on the verge of admitting she breaks things on purpose or makes bogus complaints just to get me to her apartment.

"Go ahead. We'll give you a ride home if that's what you're worried about." She steps even closer and there's no more little girl anything about her. Her dress is really low-cut. I try not to look, eyes on hers. But as I'm wondering if it's really only a ride home she's offering me, I look.

_Damn._ I raise my eyes back to hers and say, "Sorry," for my wandering eyes. I aim a thumb over my shoulder toward the entrance of the place. "Got my truck."

"I'll drive it. Seth can follow us."

"Oh sure," Seth says. "That's what I do best. Follow you."

She laughs as he walks away, and then she's pushing my beer toward my mouth. I take another swig. After three more beers I have the courage to ask her about Seth.

"He's one of my best friends. I tell him everything."

I lean in, like I might be coming on to her, like I remember how. "Everything?"

Looking straight into my eyes, hers getting slightly smaller, intense, she says, "Well, maybe not _everything_."

We decide to take our conversation to a table. I find myself with my hand on the back of her elbow as we move between knots of people. We end up having to share with a group. I pull out her chair for her as if we're on a date. I shake my head at the ground thinking:_ What are you doing?_ She sits next to Seth, I sit next to her, and whoever else is around, I wouldn't know, my eyes are on Bella.

"How do you know Angie?" she asks, elbow on the table, arm up, fingers playing with the petals of the fake flower floating in a vase.

"I don't, not really." I slide a hand through my hair. "I went to high school with Ben, and we keep in touch. Sometimes."

"You must have graduated just before I moved here." She leans forward, putting her hand on my knee. I look at it until her voice brings my eyes to hers. "We came halfway through my junior year."

I don't want to talk about high school, and definitely not junior year. I don't want to think about Rosalie walking the halls in oversized sweaters, trying to hide her growing belly; or about having to face our parents; or about all the classes I fell asleep in after being up all night with a collicky baby. It's a miracle Rose and I managed to graduate.

I look down at Bella's crossed legs. Her dress has ridden up, exposing more of her thigh. Just as I put my hand on her knee, someone bumps into my chair, pushing me forward and my hand slips slightly up Bella's leg. I squeeze, unintentionally, but then, intentionally, I trace my thumb back and forth.

"Should we?" Her lips rub together. "You want to get out of here?"

Minutes later I'm in the passenger seat of my truck directing Bella to my apartment. She parks, cuts the engine and turns to me.

Seth didn't follow us. Bella said she'll text him for a ride when she's ready. I think this means she wants me to invite her in.

"Do you ever meet someone and it feels like you've known the person a lot longer? Like, maybe even years?"

I nod. In this moment, in the dark, in the truck, with her, I know exactly what she means.

"It's like fate or something. A connection. It's not very common, is it?"

"No." My voice is like sand.

"You know, my dishwasher's been acting up."

"Has it?" I'm facing her, my beer-heavy head resting on the back of the seat.

"Yeah." She hooks a finger into the neck of my shirt, tugging it a couple of times.

I swallow, feeling my pulse rise at the simple touch of her finger against the top of my chest. "Please don't break it on purpose. It's harder to fix when it's something other than a natural malfunction."

Her eyes grow smaller, her voice deeper. "How will I get you over to my apartment then?"

I clear my throat, overly aware of the finger that hasn't let go of my shirt and the fact that I do feel like I know her well, and want to know her better—in other ways. "Invite me."

Instead of inviting me, she leans closer. I sit as still as a board. She covers my eyes with her hand, pressing them closed. Her touch, soft and cool, slides down to my jaw, and almost immediately her lips are on mine and I'm responding. Lips moving, parting together, wider, tongues meeting, and then it's me leaning over her, pushing her back against her seat, my hand riding up the side of her thigh, my breath heavy through my nose. Her hand's on my shoulder, rising up toward my neck, and I kiss her until I can feel my pulse in my lips.

"Sorry." I'm back in my own seat.

"Why do you keep saying that?" She's out of breath, too.

"I don't - I'm not sure what this is."

"Isn't that usually the girl's line?"

_Not in my life_, I think, looking straight ahead. "I should go." I reach over to pull the keys from the ignition. Her hand covers mine.

"Come over sometime?"

I squeeze my eyes closed, like maybe if I can't see her I'll be able to think straight. It doesn't help; I can still taste the mint of her kiss, smell her flowery shampoo, feel the silk of her dress and thigh. I can hear her breathing.

I think about the empty apartment above us. No Bird tucked into her bed, no quiet murmurs carrying from her room to mine as she talks in her sleep. No one to come bounding into my bed at the crack of dawn wanting bleary-eyed snuggles.

But then I think about the art gallery on the fridge door, the toys scattered across the living room, the pile of children's books on my nightstand.

Eyes still closed, I say, "Now. Invite me over now."

Bella's silent. I've come on too strong. I open my eyes. "I mean, not for-" I shake my head. "We don't have to... We can just hang out. Talk. I just - I don't think the night's over yet. Do you?"

She twists my keys in the ignition and as the truck rumbles to life, a smile tugs the corner of my mouth.

Instead of pulling away from the curb, though, Bella fishes her cell phone out of her bag between us. Her thumbs hop like jack rabbits across the buttons for a few seconds, and it chimes in response before she's even looked away from the screen.

"Good." She turns to me, grabs the front of my shirt, pulling until our mouths meet, and kisses me crazy. I'm vaguely aware of an arc of light sliding across the interior of the cab, but Bella's lips and tongue have most of my attention. Her lips and tongue, and her fingers against my chest, and the soft curve of—_fuck_.

I yank my hand off her breast like she's slapped me. Pulling away from her kiss, I take a breath. "Sorry."

"You really need to stop saying that," she tells me, her breathing labored. "First, you've had your eyes on them all night. And second, if I had a problem with your eyes, or your hands, I'd tell you."

"Sor- okay. Okay."

She laughs at me, leaning across to squeeze my thigh, her fingers a little too high to be friendly. "Let's go talk and _hang out _and stuff."

Bella's apartment is dark and silent when she swings the door open with a flourish.

"Seth?" I ask, squinting against the harsh fluorescent light she snaps on. I trail after her as she walks through the small space, flicking on every single switch.

"He's at Jake's. I told him to go ahead and stay."

I frown at the mention of another guy's name. And even when she catches my frown and explains that Jake's a friend of theirs, looking at Bella, I wonder how many guys would really be okay with just being friends with her.

"And Leah practically lives with her girlfriend."

To keep myself from putting my hand on Bella's hip, my hands find my pockets and I take a good look around. I've been here several times, but I don't make a habit of looking at people's places too closely when I'm on a job, and my work here has always been in the kitchen.

The living room's crowded. Colorful. Too many armchairs and couches squeezed into the space, and a ridiculous number of small pillows piled on each chair. Unframed photographs scatter the dark teal walls, like someone just tacked the backs of them with Blu-Tack and threw them, letting them stick wherever they landed. Faces, smiles, and poked-out tongues hang between beach scenes, bridges, and snow-capped mountains.

Bella offers me a beer, another one in her other hand.

"I thought-"

She clinks her bottle against mine. "My house, my rules." She lifts the bottle to her mouth.

"I like this," I tell her, pointing at the photo-wall.

"Yeah, it's cool, right? Leah took them all, and they were just sitting in this old shoebox. Like, what's the point, you know? Anyway, Seth and I got bored one day so we started in her room, and kinda plastered the whole apartment with them."

I smile, imagining Livvy's reaction. She'd love it, and she'd probably want to do the same thing in our place with her drawings. She probably wouldn't go for the randomness, though. She'd line them all up neatly, edge to edge.

"Let's sit." Bella points her beer bottle at the biggest couch, which is covered in a faded red velvet-looking fabric and piled high with yellow and orange pillows.

I pick my way over footstools, beanbags and cushions, and collapse onto the couch. Bella follows, sitting with her legs tented over my lap, her elbow resting on my shoulder, fingers twirling my hair. For too long, I can't take my eyes off her legs. Self-restraint worn thin, I run my hand up and down the inside of her calf from her ankle to her knee.

She trails her fingertips down my jaw, turning my face to hers. She stares. My hand on her leg stills.

"You're one of those really good-looking guys who doesn't know he's good-looking, aren't you?"

"Psh. I know I'm good-looking." I stop myself before joking that Livvy tells me I'm handsome all the time.

She tilts my face, lining up our lips, and we're kissing again. I feel the push of her cold, damp beer nudging me to move my hand up her leg. She scoots easily as I guide her with one hand onto my lap.

I flinch when she moves against me—she has to be able to feel me. She lays her head on my shoulder, pulling my hand to her lap where she plays with my fingers. "How come we've never met? I mean outside of you fixing the apartment? Common friends, same school-"

"Same school?"

"Don't you go to UC Santa Cruz?"

I shake my head, hoping for no more questions. I start tracing circles over her thigh, higher and higher to distract her.

This seems to be a good diversion. She squirms as my fingers near the top of her thigh. Her arm curves around my neck, fingers sliding into my hair. Her chest is right next to my chin, and this time I don't feel quite so bad as I take a good look down her dress. My fingers tighten around the bottle, as I imagine what her breasts will feel like in my hands. Soft skin under my fingertips, hard nipples against my palms—_fuck_. My hips push up against her.

I drain my beer and just chuck it beside me on the couch, and the clink-clink of glass on glass sounds as Bella drops her bottle next to mine.

I find the zipper at the side of her dress and slide it down. My hand inches under the fabric, around her waist to her stomach. I feel it tighten as she inhales. Her fingers in my hair give a slight tug.

Slipping my hand up, I hesitate. "Can I?"

"Yes," she whispers.

I palm her breast. She lowers her head as I raise mine. Our lips meet. I circle my fingers around her nipple. Her mouth opens and I swallow her groan.

Breaking our kiss, Bella sits up, my hand falling away from her breast. Her short nails rake up my bicep, dipping under my sleeve, and then she pulls at my arm. I don't even have time to wonder if I've gone too far too fast before she's pushing me, trying to make me lie back on the couch. I comply, grunting as I land on two empty beer bottles.

I move them out from under me, setting them on the coffee table, letting them roll when they don't land upright. They've barely hit the wood before Bella starts undoing my jeans, tugging them down my hips. She's on top of me, her lips hard on mine. I groan against her lips. My hands find her ass, squeezing and pulling as I press up into her, loving the little noises that slip from her mouth and into mine when I find the right spot.

"Bella." Her name kind of whooshes out of my throat with my exhale. "I don't-" I stop short on the lie. Because I _do_ usually do just this. Not often—I can count the number of girls I've been with since Livvy was born on one hand—but this, casual sex, this _is_ what I do. One night stands with girls I'll never bring home, and never introduce to my daughter.

But with Bella it feels different. There's something… more. It's scary as fuck, because I barely know the girl, but it's undeniable.

"It's okay," she says. "Not tonight." Her breath is on my face, her mouth brushing mine. "Just this."

Eyes closed, lip between my teeth, I nod.

And then my hands are on her hips, pulling her down against me until those little sounds slip from her again. I kiss her or she kisses me, and it's more than pressing lips and building pressure. There's something in these kisses that is tangible, that has shape. And that shape is in my arms. _Bella_.

Kissing Bella feels like diving into the ocean.

I'm coming apart with her name on my lips. And even though part of me is embarrassed that I'm spilling in my boxers like a teenager, the other part is oblivious to anything else. Until the rush starts to fade and I'm throwing a hand over my eyes about to apologize—_it's been a long time_—only I have no voice.

"No, it's okay." She pulls my hand from my face. "I wanted that. I wanted you to-" her voice quiets "-come."

Hearing her say that to me, I can almost feel myself getting hard again.

"I mean, I think I would've had some sort of complex if you didn't."

… … …

Lying back, I watch the way Bella slides into bed in her short-shorts, the way she lifts the sheets, her legs curving behind her; her thighs, the last thing I see before the sheet falls, covering. She catches me watching. I don't apologize.

She curls up next to me and I put my arm around her, tracing her arm up to her shoulder, thinking of how close I'd come to not going out tonight, how close I'd come to not being in this bed with this girl.

It's Livvy I have to thank for this, though I can't say that I ever will.

My mom had started it, telling me I should go, that I'd be late, as I lingered at her dining table after dessert.

Reluctant to go anywhere, I slouched in my chair, not even caring that the hard edges in the design my dad had carved into the wood were jamming into my back. "Maybe I'll just take Bird home and hit the sack."

Livvy looked at the hot pink My Little Pony watch that flopped loosely around her wrist. "The big hand is almost at the twelve."

"What time will it be when the big hand is at the twelve?" my mom asked her from across the table. Her smile was proud as Livvy looked closer at the hands.

"Nine o'clock." Her ponytail bounced with her nod.

"Past your bedtime," I said, giving her nose a pinch. "Okay. And what if the big hand kept moving past the twelve and landed at the six?" Playing this game was better than going out to meet a bunch of people I hardly knew anymore.

"Half past nine, and you'd be very late."

My mom laughed, having found her accomplice.

"Otherwise known as _way_ past your bedtime."

"Livvy? Don't you have an amendment that says Daddy has to go out even though he doesn't feel like it?"

_Thanks a lot, Nanny._

Liv folded her arms, looking up at me with all the sternness she could muster. "What's Amendment Six?" The little lisper had already won and they both knew it.

My mom winked at me, getting up from the table and gathering our empty plates.

I thanked her for dinner and she waved me off.

She'd cook for us more if I'd let her, but determined to prove myself a responsible father, I refused. When Livvy was born, my mom had used her savings to take a whole year off work to look after Liv so Rose and I could finish school, and my dad was not about to let me forget it. He loved Livvy but did not love the situation I'd put my mom in, the ongoing impositions that she couldn't deny Livvy, Rose, or me. And that was such a heavy weight on my shoulders—a weight that trekked its way back with every new favor asked.

Sometimes I still wondered what my mom would've done with her savings otherwise. She never told me, the same way I never talked about what my plans for college had been in high school in front of Livvy. There were enough remarks from other adults on all the promise I once had. Livvy didn't need to—and never would—hear it coming from me.

"Daddy?"

I stifled a groan. I should have known some of these would come back to bite me in the ass. "Amendment Six: Daddy doesn't have to go out on Friday nights. He gets to stay home and have a little girl read him stories until he falls asleep."

Little eyebrows lifted, and little arms folded as she clucked her tongue at me.

Sighing, I caved. "Amendment Six: sometimes, we have to do things even when they're hard."

I'd come up with that one when Liv's best friend in daycare moved out of town and she decided she didn't want to go anymore. It also worked when I tried a new vegetable in our dinner, had to take her to the doctor or the dentist, or, on certain days, when I couldn't get her to clean her room.

"You need to socialize, Edward. You don't get to spend much time with your friends," my mom said through the kitchen's swinging doors. "Go out, have fun. Act your age for a night."

"Yeah, you need to shocialize. Have fun, Dad. Like a playdate." Livvy patted my shoulder, and melted my damn heart.

My mom was right. I couldn't name the date I'd last had a night out with people my own age. Still, I was fucking tired, and all I wanted to do was sit on my Bird's bed and listen to her chirpy voice reading to me until she fell asleep, and then fall onto my couch and watch mindless television until I passed out.

"I don't know, Bird. It's been a long day."

I'd had an early job—fixing a leaky kitchen faucet—on the other side of town. I managed to finish one essay, and start another, in between four other maintenance calls, a trip to the laundromat and an almost hour-long argument with Carlisle about whether or not I should fix appliances that are still under warranty. (Conclusion: I shouldn't. As I told him last week.) He was a real pain in my ass sometimes, but I counted on both the job and the massive rent reduction it brought with it.

"Is Daddy still not convinced?" my mom asked, leaning on her forearms over the table, eyebrows raised at Livvy. "What else can we do?"

"Daddy, if you go, then maybe tomorrow, I can read you five stories."

My mom giggled as I scooped Liv into my lap and squeezed her tight. "Five? How 'bout ten?"

"Seven." The note of finality in her voice was a perfect echo of me putting my foot down.

"Okay. For seven stories, I guess I can manage. Are you going to be a good girl for Nanny?"

She nodded, and my mom said, "She always is."

"Do you have everything?"

She ticked them off on her fingers. "Pajamas, clean undies, pillow, toothbrush, Sally. That's it."

"Nope. You forgot something."

She heaved an exaggerated sigh, but put her soft, little hands on either side of my face. She kissed my cheek and then the tip of my nose. "Be good, Daddy."

… … …

I'm on my feet before I'm really awake, blinking in panic, Livvy's name on the tip of my tongue.

"Edward?"

My head whips back toward the bed I've just sprung out of.

Sun coming through the window shines on brown eyes looking up at me and brown hair tumbling around pale shoulders.

"Bella."

Her lips twitch. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I sit down on the edge of her bed. "Sorry if I scared you. I was just… I guess I was disoriented."

Her hand is warm on the small of my back. "I get like that, too, sometimes."

My head drops into my hands as Bella rubs circles over my T-shirt.

"Hungry?" Her hand's gone and I already miss her touch. A towel lands in my lap. I look up to see Bella yawning, her arms stretching, her back arched, her top lifting, revealing a couple inches of stomach. I want to swipe a finger across it, rub my hand up under her shirt, but now, in the light of day, buzz worn off, my nerve is gone.

After another yawn, she lets me know I can shower while she makes breakfast. "And coffee. Definitely coffee."

The shower door is uneven, difficult to close, but the steady rhythm of hot water beating against my lower back has me forgetting all about it. Steam billows around me, filling the tiny bathroom, fogging up the glass. Stooped under the stupidly low shower head, I realize that if I want this to be anything more than just last night, I need to tell Bella about Livvy.

I stare at the murky brown tiles, trying to imagine how she'll react. Maybe she'll be pissed that I didn't mention Livvy sooner, that I didn't tell her before I asked her to bring me home. I guess she'd have a right to be. I don't know the rules. I don't know if my having a daughter will scare her away, but I won't keep Liv a secret. It wouldn't be fair to Bella, or to Liv. And if Bella's interested in me the way I am in her, she needs—deserves—my honesty.

On my way out, towel around my waist, the shower door gives me trouble again. No doubt Carlisle will be calling me out soon to fix it. I think about that—how, as Carlisle's sole employee, if this is it for Bella and me, we'll still have to see each other. Maybe I should fix this today.

Dressed and in the living room, I call to Bella, asking if she has any tools. She comes in from the kitchen wearing the same tank top and shorts she slept in.

"Your shower door-"

"You're going to fix it?"

"Why not? I'm here."

She digs through the back of a closet and pulls out a pink metal toolbox. Squatting down, I wipe dust from the top and open it. I pick up a screwdriver, scoffing at what I see.

"Bella. Your Phillips head has flowers on it."

"Yeah." She waves her hand. "My mom."

She heads back into the kitchen, telling me that breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.

On the bathroom floor, fixing the door, I find myself hoping I'm not about to break something else, something that's hardly had the chance to become anything. But even the potential of something can break and it can still hurt coming apart.

When the shower door opens and closes smoothly, I put the flowery tools away and join Bella in the kitchen.

She's singing to herself, her voice off-key, and I'm almost grinning. She gives me a huge smile—pink lips, white teeth, bright eyes—gesturing for me to sit. She's flipping a pancake. Before I take a seat, I push her heavy hair aside, fingers brushing skin, and kiss the back of her neck. She tilts her head for me, my lips welcome. With one more kiss, I hope it won't be the last.

I pull out a chair. A vase of local wildflowers with long, sprawling stems stands in the center of the table. I wait, everything I'm about to say burning my throat, my eyes, my nostrils, until she joins me with two plates of pancakes and sausage, and two mugs of coffee steaming between us.

"Look, I-I don't normally-"

She rolls her eyes at me. "Neither do I."

"Just - let me finish, please." I don't mean for it to come out as short as it does, but she seems to catch my tone, her exasperated expression replaced with... something else, as she straightens in her chair.

She frowns, talking into her plate, almost whispering. "Please don't tell me you have a girlfriend."

"God, no. Bella." Her eyes meet mine and she looks relieved, but how long will this relief last? "I-I want to see you again."

"Me, too."

"And I want to see you again after that."

"Okay..."

"Listen. No girlfriend, but there is someone else in my life, someone more important to me than - than breathing." I reach for my wallet, flipping it open to pull out the picture of Liv.

"Do you have a kid?"

I blink at her, the wind knocked out of me. My mouth opens and closes, the answer stuck in my throat. Pulling the photo from my wallet, I hand it over. I could say that Olivia Rose Masen is my life. I could say that she's the only thing that matters in this world. I could say that I can't be with anyone who can't accept her. I say none of it.

She looks at the picture of Liv for a long time, occasionally her eyes flickering to me, like she's looking for resemblances.

"She's adorable. What's her name?"

"Olivia. Livvy, usually. Or Bird." I can't help but smile at that, even if it's only half a smile. Bella doesn't smile. She nods, a corner of her lip hidden in her mouth, her eyes still focused on my little girl's grinning face. What's she thinking? She doesn't _look_ freaked out or angry, but I don't even really know what freaked out or angry looks like on Bella. Maybe they look just like this, like no expression. Hands clenched tight in my lap, I wait for the axe to fall.

"How old is she?"

"She'll be six in August."

Bella's smile stirs hope inside me. It trickles through my veins, easing into my bones. I relax in my seat. She hasn't kicked me out yet. It seems she won't.

She plucks a yellow wildflower from the vase and, along with Olivia's picture, hands it to me.

Picking up her knife and fork, turning her attention to not-quite-hot pancakes, a little crease forms between her eyes. I try not to notice it or wonder what it means as I slide Liv's picture back into my wallet. I leave the worn out leather thing on the table next to the yellow flower.

We eat in silence for a while. There are a million questions gathering in my gut but I hold them down. I've just dumped something enormous into her lap. She'll need time to process, I guess.

Our plates are empty, and loaded into the working-perfectly dishwasher, and she still hasn't said much more than "You're welcome," when I thanked her for breakfast.

I check my watch. Livvy will be waiting for me. It's Saturday, and Masen Law Amendment Eight states that: _For at least two hours every Saturday, Olivia Rose Masen is the boss_. Amendment Eight and a half was added later: _Within reason._

"You're thinking about your little girl, right?"

My gaze snaps to Bella. Her expression is still guarded, but there's a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Uh, yeah." I scrub a hand over my jaw. I need to shave, or Liv will complain about my prickles.

Bella nods, like I've confirmed something for her. "You get this smile… even before, when you were here fixing things. I thought it was for a girlfriend or someone." She glances away, her gaze settling on my wallet. "Now that I know who it's for, I'm kind of, well-" she presses a finger against the tabletop "-it's swoony."

"Swoony?"

"Yeah, you know-" she lifts the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends to faint "-swoony."

"Oh." My nose scrunches up. I know all about _swoony_. A little girl toddling around a playground bossing her "Dadda!" around is a more effective chick-magnet than a chihuahua puppy. "I don't know, Bella. It's not exactly glamorous."

"I know." She puts so much weight on the words that I think maybe she does know. Maybe she knows exactly what being with me would mean.

I take her hands, looking at my fingers curled around hers. "I have to go. I need to pick Livvy up from my parents'." I look up, she's looking at me. I take a breath and send the ball over the net into her court. "I like you, Bella. And I'd like to see you again. So, I guess - I mean, it's your call, okay?"

She opens her mouth, but I shake my head. "Just… take some time to think about it. Being with me, it wouldn't be easy."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'll think about it. I mean, it _is_ a big deal. I get that. And it should be, you know? She's important. She's everything."

"She is." I slide my wallet into the back pocket of my jeans and pick up the flower, holding it carefully by its bendy stem.

Bella drops my keys into my palm. They land with a muted jangle. Her fingers coast up my forearm and she pulls me in by my elbow. She gives me the slightest brush of her lips against mine, like she's telling me a secret that I don't understand.

I want to say something but I don't really know what to say. _See you later? _Maybe I won't. _Call me? _Maybe she won't.

So I don't say anything, I just kiss her cheek and I let myself out. I climb down the stairs and head to the parking lot.

I hear my name as I'm unlocking my truck. I turn to see Bella running up to me. Out here, her shorts look even shorter, her tank top tighter, and anyone can see she's not wearing a bra. A part of me wants to cover her up with something. A blanket? Myself? But I don't know if I have any right to.

"Ask me out," she says.

I smile. "Now?"

"Sometime." She backs away, waves, then turns to head back to her apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**High Maintenance**

**Chapter 2**

Dumping my toolbox in the back of my truck, I check my watch. _Damn._ I don't have enough time to get home and shower before picking Livvy up from school. That air conditioning unit couldn't be fixed. Carlisle's going to have to replace it, something he conceded to only _after_ I'd spent an hour and a half working on the stupid thing.

I slide into the truck and squint into the rearview mirror, trying to finger comb my hair into some kind of order. When that doesn't work, I pull a faded baseball cap out from under my seat, hit it against the dashboard to get rid of dust, and jam it over my head. I make a mental note to get a haircut sometime this week. There's a packet of baby wipes in the glove box. I use one to clean my hands and another to make sure there's no grease or grime on my face. Emergency deodorant follows. I wince as the cold spray misses my armpit, getting my nipple instead.

Sighing, I fire up the engine and head toward Livvy's school. I pull into the parking lot a few minutes early, and notably disheveled—which won't bother Livvy, but does bother me.

"Hi, there." A brunette who appears to be in her late thirties sidles up to me as I step out of my truck. She's wearing a tight dress and her lips are a shade of red too bright for the schoolyard. She looks like she's about to step into a nightclub, not an elementary school.

"Hey." I force a smile, trying to pass her by as I head toward the classroom.

"You're Olivia's dad, aren't you?" She falls into step with me and doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm Jamie's mom."

I nod, wondering if she means Jamie-the-girl, or Jamie-the-boy.

"I think he has a crush on Olivia."

I force a laugh and adjust my hat. _Why do some parents have to make a big deal out of innocent friendships? Imply shit that isn't there? _"I think they're a little young for that."

She giggles. It's a high-pitched, fake noise, not at all like Bella's laugh. I smile thinking about Bella, recalling the late phone calls we've had every night this week, talking until our words slurred into incoherence. Unfortunately, Jamie-the-boy's mom assumes my goofy grin is for her.

"We should organize a playdate for them." There's just enough suggestion in her tone to set my teeth on edge. Don't women like her know that come-ons like this sound more threatening than sexy? Not to mention the fact that now there is no way in hell my daughter will ever be allowed at her house.

I make a joke to avoid answering. "I don't know. Wouldn't want to encourage that crush. I've told Livvy she can't date until she's thirty."

She sighs heavily, her lips pouting, and reaches over to pat my arm. "I understand that. You, of all people, know firsthand what kind of trouble young boys can get young girls into."

I clench my jaw tight enough to crack a tooth. Her fake compassion pisses me off even more. _If you're judging me, own it. Don't try and hide it behind bullshit pity-eyes and arm-pats._

The sweetest voice breaks through this asinine conversation, saving me. "Daddy!"

"Livvy-Bird!" She's in my arms fast and I plant a kiss on her face. "But the bell hasn't rung yet."

It rings before I finish my sentence and Livvy giggles, folding her arms over her chest. "Teacher said our class worked very hard, so we got out early." I set her feet on the ground and take her hand, leading her to my truck. Little-kid chaos dies out behind us.

"That's pretty special. I wish I could get let out early from work some days."

"Maybe if you work very hard, Mr. Carlisle will say you can finish early."

"Maybe."

On the drive home, I try to focus on Livvy's chatter about her day. But as she chirps away, there's a corner of my brain turning over what Jamie-the-boy's mom implied. It makes me wonder how I might cope if Livvy comes to me ten years from now to announce she's pregnant.

I remember Rosalie and me, a couple of sixteen year olds, squeezing each other's hands as we dropped the bomb on our parents—first mine, then hers. Their reactions killed us both in different ways. I can't imagine what it would've been like in the beginning if Rose and I hadn't had each other to lean on. I remember sneaking her into my room some nights, not to take her clothes off like before, but so that she could cry on my shoulder while I pretended not to.

My mom and dad shouted—raged, really. At me, not Rosalie. I still respect them for that. They were right. I should have worn a condom every single time.

After they shouted their voices hoarse, they disappeared into their bedroom to "discuss things." Three days later my mom took both of us by the hand and asked what we needed. They said it was our decision, and whatever we chose, they'd stand by us.

Rosalie's parents seemed calm at first, as they asked if we'd made an appointment to terminate the pregnancy, and offered us money to "take care of it." They seemed cool and collected when Rosalie told them we planned on keeping the baby, that we loved each other, and that we were going to raise him or her together. They were still soft-spoken and restrained when they told Rosalie that if that was her plan, she could pack her bags and live elsewhere. And then, a month before Bird was born, they calmly and politely reconciled with us. They apologized for kicking Rosalie out, and told us they wanted to be part of their grandchild's life.

Rosalie was sure her parents would have stood beside her in anything. And they did, but it took six months for them to come around. I'm not sure Rose has ever fully let go of the loneliness and shame she felt in that time.

I check on Livvy in the rearview mirror. Her smile lights me up. "Tell me more," I say. "I want to hear all of it."

I feel her feet kicking the back of my seat, like she's swinging her legs in time with her story. She's excited to tell me every aspect of her day: the pictures she drew; the book she read to Miss Brandon, "without making one single mistake!"; the new yellow cushions they have in the reading corner; the class' guinea pigs, Salt and Pepper, and how she got to feed them some lettuce.

In this moment, I have no doubt that I would support Liv in anything.

"New Amendment," I say. "Amendment Twelve: You can tell me anything, and I have to listen."

"I just_ did,_ Daddy."

… … …

I haven't had the chance to take Bella to dinner yet. We've met for lunches in Santa Cruz before Bella went to work and while Livvy was in school. Because I have too-few free nights without Livvy, dinner just hasn't worked out. Then Rosalie lands in our laps on a Saturday, scooping our daughter up. "Mom really misses her, too," Rose tells me. She takes Liv with her to San Jose.

I pounce on the opportunity to finally ask Bella to dinner. I let her choose the place. After sushi near the beach, we take a walk along the shore. The big orange moon in front of us is hidden and then unhidden by traveling clouds. There's a huge log, an old fallen redwood, off to the side. Bella hops on and starts walking across it. I fall in behind her.

"Did you know Billy Idol grew up here?" she asks, arms out, swaying, almost losing her balance. I reach for her but she steadies herself.

"Capitola's claim to fame."

"Not our only one. You forget about _A Hidden Hand._"

"How could I?"

"Ever heard of _Little Women_ or Jo March?"

"Yeah."

"Did you know Jo March was inspired by the character Capitola? And not subtly. Capitola dressed up like a boy in order to be able to work, right? It goes something like this." Bella spins around on her toes to face me, zips up her sweater, crosses her hands over her heart and in a strange southern accent says, "While all the ragged boys had jobs to earn money, I wasn't even allowed to carry a gentleman's parcel, or shine his boots, or shovel the snow off a shopkeeper's stoop, or do anything that I could do just as well as any boy could_._" Even when the wind picks up, blowing strands of hair in her face, she doesn't break character. "Why, just because I was a girl was there nothing but starvation and begging for me?"

She hops off the log. "So. The heart of Capitola is a feminist. Could you ever be prouder of a town you live in?"

"College girls." I shake my head at her, joining her in the sand.

"Jealous?"

"Yes."

"Really?" Her face falls.

I shrug a shoulder. "It's okay. I go to school my own way." I feign like I'm typing over a keyboard. "It just takes longer."

She walks on toward the ocean. I contemplate taking her hand for about five seconds before I do, starting with her wrist and sliding down to link our fingers. She looks up and smiles at me, and it's a smile I can't resist kissing. Seconds later, my arms are wrapped around her and we're making out in the wind, sand blowing at our ankles, waves crashing to my right.

"Edward," she says as my mouth finds the crook of her neck.

"Yeah?" I pull back; her breath catches.

She lifts her hand to my face, running her fingers along my jaw. "That's it. Just Edward."

I kiss her again before we continue down the beach. We're in wet sand now, easier to walk on. She hugs my arm.

"Will you tell me more about her? About Livvy?" She kind of tumbles her hand around, and I get what she's trying to say. _What happened? Who is her mother? Where is she?_

"How about you just - do you want to meet her? Next week?"

"Yes!" she says with a bounce before I've even finished my question.

She stops walking, toes of her shoes digging in the silver sand, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. "Is her mom - I mean, is she going to be okay with me meeting Livvy?"

I hesitate, but go with the truth. "I don't know. Rosalie-" _doesn't notice things unless they affect her._ "Well, she's not around a lot. She lives in L.A., and she just - she flies in and out of our lives when she can." _When she wants to._

Bella's hand tightens on my bicep.

"Like this weekend. She just showed up this morning, said that her parents miss Liv and they were going to visit."

"That must be hard."

"She doesn't always think of the details. Like Livvy needing a car seat, or the fact that we might've already made plans."

Bella tips her head to look at me, her lips pressed in a tight line. "You and Rosalie haven't been together for a while, right? Have you - I mean, has Livvy met any of your girlfriends, before?"

I shake my head. "No, and no. Rosalie and I broke up pretty much as soon as she turned eighteen. We lived with my parents for the first year of Liv's life, but Rose has big dreams, you know? She's going to be a supermodel."

"Hence living in L.A."

"Right. And, girlfriends..." I run a hand through my hair. The salty breeze has made it stiff against my scalp. "There haven't been any in the last four years. Until now." I take her hand from around my arm and hold her fingers. "I've just had, uh, a casual thing here and there. I wasn't planning - I didn't expect… you." I decided a long time ago that any girl I dated would have to get along with Liv. Before I let things get too serious, more serious than they already are, I need to know how my daughter feels about Bella.

Bella looks at me, dark hair whipping in the wind, eyes shining with something I don't understand.

"I mean, not to say like, _fuck_. I know there's no guarantees, and I'm not - I mean we're not getting married. Now. Yet. _Sh-" _I gesture to her like maybe she can help me out of this corner_. _"It's just… I want you to meet her."

"Edward, I'm excited to meet her. It feels-" she sweeps her hair off her face "-special that nobody else has. I mean no girls. I'm glad you trust me. And I, well - I see us the same way, okay?"

I pull her close and press my lips to hers. Her hair is slapping at both our faces. I ignore it, kissing her until it's like her kiss and her touch is my fucking heartbeat. I break away from her, holding her face in my palms, trying to understand what's just happened here on the beach, in the sand.

When I get home, Rosalie and Liv are already back, Liv fresh out of the bath, hair wrapped in a towel. Only her mother can wrap it on top of her head like that and make it stay. Naked, Livvy sees me, yells, "Daddy!" and runs into my arms. I squeeze her. There is absolutely no better greeting in the history of greetings. "Mommy's goin'ta braid my hair," she whispers like it's a big secret.

"Well, in that case..." I set her down. Holding the now flopping towel to her head, she walks to a smiling Rosalie who waves at me before taking Liv's hand.

Rosalie goes into Liv's room with a smile and exits it with something different on her face. I try to place the expression. I've seen it before. The crease in her brow, the focused eyes. Determination?

"I want my daughter closer." She folds her arms across her chest, her feet hip-width apart. Definitely determination.

"_Our_ daughter. And what the f- what are you saying?" Would she actually try to take Livvy with her? That thought makes it hard to stand. I look at the couch, about to sink into it, when she answers.

"Why can't you move to L.A.? If you move to Santa Monica-"

"Are you kidding me with this? Our lives are here." I point to the floor.

"What lives? You're a maintenance guy."

My jaw clenches, my hands fist, I swallow every cuss word imaginable. "Do you need me to show you where the door is?" I motion to it, about ten feet away from her.

"Come on, Edward. You know what I mean. You can do that anywhere."

"I've got my classes."

"Online."

"Bird's got school."

"There are schools in L.A."

"We're not moving to follow your dream, Rose. This is my home. Mine and Olivia's." It's the first time she's come to see Liv in four months, and she wants us to uproot our whole lives on her whim? "You and me aren't together. There's no place for... me in the life you have in L.A."

She steps closer, placing a hand on my arm. I look at it. She rubs up and down. Her touch is familiar but so strange, and I have no idea what she's about to do. Needles prick the back of my neck.

"Maybe we should be. Together. Things were easier then, weren't they? Remember when it was just you and me against everyone else? We were a good team. We changed our parents' minds." Tears meet her eyes. Is she for real? Or is she just trying to get our daughter closer?

I slide my hand down my arm to push hers off. "Rosalie."

"I'm sorry." Her lip quivers and she reaches out to hug me. I return the hug, loose at first, but when I feel her shudder, I rub her back. I remember holding her like this, with Livvy growing in her belly. Already it feels like a lifetime ago. Now Rosalie feels frail in my arms. She sniffles. "I just miss you. Both of you. Everything. Do you ever feel lost?"

"Every day." I realize the dishonesty in that as I say it. It used to be every day. But when I'm with Bella, that lost feeling goes away. I pull back from Rosalie. She wipes her cheeks with the edges of her fingers. "Livvy misses you, too, you know. She asks about you. You should visit more often."

Nodding, sniffling, she says she will. And then she picks up her bag and she's out the door.

I go right in to see Livvy. She's awake, light on, with a book across her lap. She holds it out to me. I take it and slide in next to her, opening the book to the first page.

"Why does Mommy keep leaving?" she asks.

"It's her work," I say, wishing I had a different answer, an answer that promised Rosalie was moving back. I touch her nose before she can start crying. "And because you and me belong together." I poke her ribs. It gets a smile out of her. "Hey, Amendment One."

"Love you."

"Love you, too. And Liv? Say I had someone I wanted you to meet. What would you say to that?"

"Is it Santa? Or Jesus?"

"_What?_ No, it isn't Santa. Or... Jesus." I sort of frown and laugh at the things that come out of kids' mouths. You can never be prepared. "It's a girl. A lady I like a lot, and who might be around a lot, but I need your seal of approval." I offer her my fist.

"What's approval?"

"I need to know if you like her and if you get along and all that."

"Is it an amendment?"

"An unwritten one. We'll write it as we go. What do you say? Do you want to meet her? Her name's Bella and she's excited to meet you." I wiggle my fist at her and she bumps it with hers. "You know what she asked me when I told her your name was Bird? She asked me if you'd teach her how to fly and I said that if anyone could teach her to fly, it was Livvy-Bird."

"But I can't fly," she whispers.

"I know," I whisper back. "I was just kidding about that." But she'll fly one day. I'll be sure of that. She'll soar. "Now." I hand her the open book. "Read to me, Livvy-Bird." I lie back, close my eyes and listen to my daughter's voice.

… … …

I'm holding Livvy's hand on our way to meet Bella at the playground by the beach. She keeps making me sing with her, some song she's learning in school, but I think she's making up most of the words as she goes. Half a block back she yanked a long, thin leaf off a bush and is now dragging it behind her. Every once in awhile she stops, turns around, and pats her leg. "Come on," she says, "come on," like it's a dog on a leash.

Bella's standing near the slide when we arrive. I wanted to meet here, somewhere Livvy would feel free and comfortable. Because it's an overcast Wednesday afternoon, it's not nearly as busy as it would be on a sunny Saturday. It turns out, with the way Bella and Livvy interact, uneasiness over their meeting was a wasted emotion. Maybe this shouldn't surprise me considering Bella works at a daycare and is going to school to be an elementary teacher.

I'm kicking back on the bench, elbow resting over the top of it, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, as I watch Bella push Livvy on the swing. I've been demoted, Livvy appointing Bella Key Swing-pusher. Livvy's laughter is everything. All by myself on the bench, I'm smiling.

She calls to me to "Watch, Daddy!" as if I'm not already. Bella moves to the front of her, takes her hands, swings her back and forth, and on the next swing forward, Livvy jumps, holding onto Bella's hand.

"I flew!" Livvy says, hopping up and down in the sand as seagulls squawk in the white sky above her.

They do it again and again. Behind them, waves I can't see from here are crashing and swimming onto soft, cool sand. I've lived here long enough—eighteen years—to see and feel the beach even when I'm not on it.

We walk the seven blocks—past pocket yard after pocket yard, green and colored with flowers—back to my apartment where I start dinner and the two girls play Super Mario Galaxy. I'm laughing at Bella as she tries to hold back her swear words while Livvy kicks the shit out of her in that game.

"What, do you play this all the livelong day?"

Livvy laughs. "No-o."

"Don't you do anything else?"

"Y-yes." Livvy is cracking up, her laughter climbing an octave with each giggle.

"Don't you know this stuff wreaks havoc on the brain?"

"Want me to let you win?"

"No-o! Let's go again. Give it all you got." Bella shifts from foot to foot like a boxer in a ring. I watch her hips until the vegetables frying under my wooden spoon sizzle and pop and oil shoots up and burns me. I jerk my arm back fast, but the feeling, the burn, is fitting.

After dinner, Livvy puts on what she calls her "prettiest jammies," a white cotton nightgown with sunflowers, and she and Bella disappear into her room, both of them announcing that it's girl stuff when I knock on the door to ask what's up. They're in there so long that the dishes are done and I'm bored enough to put a movie on. I'm a quarter of the way through _Cool Hand Luke_ when Bella finally emerges from Livvy's room whispering, "She's asleep."

I mute the TV as Bella sits next to me. I put my arm around her and she relaxes into my side.

"Did you read to her?"

"She read to me. She's good."

"I know."

"And she's beautiful."

"I know that, too."

"And you're a really good dad."

My heart stutters as I try to recall if I've heard that before from someone other than my mom. "Thank you," I think I say, I try to say, I mean to say.

Her cheek rubs against my collarbone as she lifts her face to look at me. "What are we watching?"

Running my fingers down her forearm, I hold on, wrapping my hand all the way around her wrist, dropping my head, my mouth to hers. "Each other."

I invite her to spend the night and she says yes, if I have an extra toothbrush, and I wonder if this is the night I'll undress her.

I peek in at Livvy while Bella's in the bathroom. Her little bird lips are pursed and she's making little bird snores. I kiss her forehead and raise her sheet over her shoulder. She doesn't stir. Her breathing doesn't falter. She's out. I watch her in her bed as I close the door, the long rectangle of light narrowing inch by inch until it disappears from her room. I get this familiar pang in my chest that's often there when I say goodnight to her. It's like I miss her even though she's right here, and even though Bella's probably waiting for me long-legged and smooth-skinned in my bed.

Until I actually see her in my bed, I start to worry that it may have been a bad idea to invite her to stay. But she's smiling, and wearing my shirt, and nothing about her feels like a mistake.

She pushes hair over her shoulder and I realize I want to be the one to do that, to push her hair back slowly, and then run my fingers from the top of her neck, across her shoulder, down her arm, and then all over the rest of her skin.

"What?" she asks, shifting, the stare I didn't realize I had on her making her uncomfortable. It turns my smile into a smirk to know my gaze can make her nervous. "What?" she asks again.

"Just you."

"Are you going to keep standing there staring or...?"

My shirt goes first and then my jeans. I slide under the covers with her and when our legs meet I'm reminded what it feels like to be pressed against her. We kiss. When she starts to lift her shirt, I grab the end of it. "Let me."

I pull her shirt over her head, and lay her down, pushing her hands above her head, tracing my fingers down her arms, around the sides of her breasts, the dip of her waist, until I can't keep myself from kissing her. I start all over again with my lips this time, beginning at her wrist.

Her hands on my shoulder, she puts her weight into it, nudging me to my back. I turn for her, and she's kissing me down my body now, my chest, my stomach... my hip. Her mouth. Her fucking _mouth_.

This is going to be over too fast.

"Bella," I say with almost no breath, tugging at her arms with almost no strength. I lean until she's on her back.

This isn't going to be over too fast.

I brush my lips against hers. "My turn."

"Your turn?"

"I want to make you-" I drag my mouth from her cheek to her ear "-_come._" She squirms under me. I'm back to her lips. "It'll give me a complex if you don't." We both smile. But hers is small and her eyes are glassy.

I watch her face, holding myself on my forearm as my other hand moves between her legs. Her thighs part for me, legs bending. Her eyelids close and then open. It's like she's trying to keep her eyes on mine. I get lost in her eyes, the deep brown of them, the wanting, needing, craving tears that glisten, the heavy, heavy lids. I slip my middle finger inside and she loses the battle; her eyes close. Pale lavender lids, long black lashes. I don't look away. Her lips part with a sharp, stuttering inhale. My fingers move and so do her hips. She squeezes her eyes; her chest rises. I've got her. She's close. Her nails dig into the sides of my arms. I can almost feel them breaking skin.

"I want you inside me when I... when I do."

She tries to stop me as I reach over and pull a condom from my drawer, telling me she's on the pill. I roll it on anyway. "I don't take chances."

I kiss her as I guide myself inside—kiss her noises, quiet her moans, feeling them, their vibration inside of me, in my blood.

For a second, I'm afraid it's going to be me first, but then she's coming undone, and I can let myself go, stop thinking, stop concentrating. I keep moving, pushing harder, slipping my hand down the back of her thigh, gripping tight. Going for quiet doesn't quite work. The groan comes out, low and with her name, and I'm gone, too.

I slide out of her and off of her, my hand falling down her side—damp with sweat—over her hip where it stays, where I hold. I watch the rise and fall of her chest, matching mine. I listen to her heavy breaths, matching mine. She smiles at me. Beautiful.

That pang I felt for Livvy earlier, there's a second pang, a different one. It's sharp and demanding. Possessive and predatory. Beating hope and pumping promise.

"Bella, I-I..." I stop. Her hand comes up to my face, her expression soft, her skin glowing. "I love your smile." Her fingers glide down to my lips and she lifts her head to kiss me.

When we fall asleep I have her pulled in close, her ass right against my crotch, one arm tucked above my head under my pillow, the other one around her, holding her stomach, my thumb and fingers caressing whenever they feel like it, all on their own. We fit like we belong together, in this bed, in this room, in this life. Her skin is softer than the sheets.

… … …

If kissing Bella is like diving into the ocean, I'm swimming in deeper and deeper waters. We're seeing each other every day. She does her homework with Livvy and me in the evenings, even though Livvy doesn't have homework yet. She pretends to, papers spread all over the floor, little checks and circles marked all over them. Bella spends the night so much that when she isn't here, her absence feels like a cold shower. She isn't here today, some excuse about laundry and needing more clothes.

I swing by her apartment to pick her up.

Seth throws the door open within seconds of my knock. "Handyman!"

"Hey, Seth. How's it going?"

"Great, man." He holds out his hand and starts this complicated handshake that he taught me a few weeks ago. I fuck it up about two-thirds of the way through, because that's when Bella appears behind him. I can't concentrate on high-fiving and finger-twiddling with Seth when she's standing there in these little denim shorts and this T-shirt that is somehow flowy and loose, and yet also dips down to show enough cleavage to have me biting back a groan.

Seth rolls his eyes as my hands fall back to my sides. "Bell, he's never gonna be part of my club if you keep distracting him."

"Good," Bella tells him. She pushes him out of the way, and I see him scrunch up his face before her lips are on mine, her arms around my neck. She kisses me hard. It's probably a deeper kiss than is polite with Seth standing behind us, clearing his throat, but I'm not going to stop her. In fact, my hands at her waist tug her closer.

When she pulls back, her cheeks are pink and her lips kissed red. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself. You ready to go?"

"I need to get changed."

"Are you sure?" My gaze dips between her breasts.

She laughs and swats my arm. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm not hanging out with Liz and Big Edward in a shirt you won't be able to stop looking down."

"You've already won them over. It's not like you have anyone else to impress anymore but me." I tuck a finger into the V of her shirt. She pulls it out.

"Still, this is only the second time. Maybe we should _ease_ them into their son's cleavage-gazing ways."

"Cleavage-gazing," Seth says. "Is that anything like stargazing?"

Bella wicked-smiles, and without looking away from me, raises her hand and flips him off.

"I'll just be a minute," she says. She kisses me again, too fast, and heads out of the room. My eyes chase her down the hall and I catch a glimpse of her naked back as she pulls her shirt off on the way into her room. I don't know whether to be turned on or annoyed; I mean, seeing Bella without clothes is always a good thing, but Seth is standing about two feet away from me, so chances are, he got a good look, too.

"So…"

I meet Seth's eyes and I wonder if he knows what was just in my mind. "Is this the part where you threaten to kick my ass if I hurt her?"

Seth holds my gaze for so long I start to fidget, and I have to fight the urge to look away.

"I don't think I need to," he says eventually. His voice is quiet but there's a weight to his words. "I have a feeling that if you do hurt her, you'll be kicking your own ass. If she doesn't beat you to it."

"Okay, ready!" Bella twirls for me, showing me the flowery sundress she's changed into and she looks like she belongs on another plane of the universe, one that neither Seth nor I are fit for. "Impressed?"

I can't answer, the bottom part of my mouth is somewhere in the center of the earth.

"But yeah, if you hurt her, I won't kick your ass." Seth steps between Bella and me. "I'll take you down to that bar right off 17. You know the one. Yeah, I'll take you there, push you through the door, yell 'pussy' as loud as I can, and take off."

"Let's go." Bella, completely ignoring Seth, pulls me by my elbow out the door.

"I think he was serious." I look back as the front door closes.

"He was joking. He's a big jokester. And a teddy bear."

"I'm pretty sure there was some truth in that joke."

In the truck, Bella fiddles with the radio and rolls down the window. Feet on the dashboard, her dress falling way past her sun-tanned thighs, her hair blowing around her face, she looks like summertime and lazy days and rolling around on the beach.

"Where's Livvy's mom taking her?" she asks.

"The Boardwalk." I put my hand high on her thigh. Rose will be dropping Livvy off at my parents' in time for dinner. I glance at the clock. "We've got about four hours to kill."

"Really? Whatever will we do?" If she's going for innocence, she falls short of the mark: her lips are set in an evil smirk, and she parts her knees. My hand falls—I swear on its own—and my pinky is right there.

I swallow hard. "You're going to make me crash."

"Don't you only live like three miles _that_ way?" She aims a thumb over her shoulder and I'm already looking for a place to turn around.

… … …

She's behind me, hands up and under my shirt, moving, searching, not stopping, and then lower, unbuttoning my jeans, all while I'm trying to get my key in the lock. Her hand dips into my pants and I almost drop my keys. Finally open, I turn around pick her up, lips to mine, and spin her into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind us.

I set her back on the floor and toe my shoes off while she steps out of her flip-flops. My hands are up her dress, inching toward her ass, pulling her flush to me. Lips to her throat I'm backing her toward my room.

"Ow! Ow, ow, ow." She's pushed me away and I have no idea what I've done, but she's hitting my arm, and hopping around on one foot at the same time. Her eyes are watering.

"What?" I reach for her elbows.

"I _stepped_ on something."

I look down to see a Lego sitting on the floor like a weapon. Knowing how much that hurts, I pick Bella up and take her to my bed. I sit her down, lift her ankle, and press my lips to the bottom of her foot. "Sorry, sorry."

She wriggles. "Dirty."

"I care more about your foot than dirt."

She pulls me by the neck of my shirt, wipes my mouth off with her palm, and then kisses me. Our clothes are coming off, and we're all over the room, pushing and pulling on each other. We don't have to be careful; we don't have to be quiet. Naked, I'm on top of her, then behind her, then she's on top of me, and I'm pretty sure we don't stop moving until we're both spent. Done. Lying side by side, almost lifeless.

Bella's the first to start laughing, and then I join.

"That was..." she says, but laughing too hard, she doesn't finish.

"Good," I say, tangling my fingers in the ends of her hair, facing her, kissing the bridge of her nose.

"Mm-hmm, really good." Her lips meet mine.

We take a shower together. I make my bed as she runs out to my truck with wet hair to grab her bag. While she reapplies what makeup she brought with her, I make nachos—really the only choice of food in my kitchen right now.

We sit at the counter, resting on elbows, hands holding up our lazy heads, and feed each other chips like some animated romance. I kiss cheese off her lips.

"What do you and Livvy do when you sneak away?" I ask, holding a chip layered with cheese and salsa to her mouth.

"What do you mean?" She bites it, a hand under her chin to catch crumbs.

"When you hide. In her room. And you're all secretive."

"Oh, we just, you know, girl stuff."

"Yeah, I've heard. What exactly, though?"

"Crafts. I taught her how to make origami butterflies." She holds a chip to my mouth.

"But why is that a secret?" I don't bite the chip. Smirking, she pokes it against my lip. Whatever the secret is, apparently she's keeping it.

… … …

Before dinner, in the living room, my mom sets out chips and salsa on the coffee table, and then wonders why all Bella and I do is drink our iced tea. Bella and I look at each other trying to hide our laughs. My dad puts on the _American Beauty _record. The actual record. Signed by Jerry Garcia.

Bella smiles big. "Like father, like son."

"He's still listening to them?" my dad asks, sitting in his chair, lifting the lid of his cigar box. He pulls one out and sniffs along its edge.

"He sings their songs to Livvy." She rests her hand on my leg.

"Just one," I say, picking up her fingers, holding them. The tips are cool. I close my palm around them.

"Third generation of Dead Heads." He points his cigar at me, proud, and then bites off the end. I like the smell of his cigars. They remind me of being eight years old, of collecting earthworms, of boogie boarding. My mom hates them.

"Outside," she says, shooing him with her hand. "I like Elton John," my mom says to Bella, as if you can only like the Dead or Elton John. "Piano Man."

"I like Arctic Monkeys," Bella says in this high, chipper voice.

I can't help but laugh at this conversation.

Long after my dad comes in from his smoke, after my mom complains about dinner getting cold, Rosalie still hasn't shown up with Livvy.

"They ate out," my mom says with a dismissive motion of her hand as I pull my chair out at the dinner table. "That's all."

I try calling Rose again. No answer. Again. I try her mom who tells me it was just mother and daugher today, Rose and Livvy. She's sure they'll pull up any minute.

"She told you by dinnertime, didn't she?" my mom says, passing her casserole. "It's still early."

Dinner finished and cleaned up, nobody's making excuses or saying it's still early any longer. Nobody's saying anything. My dad hasn't even put another record on or gone out for his after-dinner smoke.

My mom's dished us all cheesecake. I haven't touched mine. Bella's eaten just enough to be polite. She clears her throat, probably because it's too quiet.

I check my watch again. _8:13._ Before I can shove my hand through my hair, Bella catches it, trying to tangle her fingers with mine. I shake her off and pull myself to my feet.

Slipping my phone from my pocket, I stalk out of the room, out the front door, out of the quiet that feels like a held breath.

On the porch, where the sky is fading into murky grey with a final shout of gold and red light, I stand with my phone pressed against my ear.

Voicemail. My knuckles are white around the small device.

The wind carries my mom's voice out the kitchen window. I can barely hear her. "She doesn't do it spitefully," she says. "She just - well, I suppose she just doesn't think."

Bella is less clear, the shaking of leaves drowning her out.

Mom again. "He's too easy-going…" Maybe she's turned around, only snatches are carried out to me. "Won't speak badly of her… Let's her walk all over… She doesn't change…"

Their conversation fades out as I walk away. I don't want to hear it. I sit, hunched down on the porch steps, forearms on my thighs, looking at the curb but seeing nothing.

Headlights swing into the drive and I shoot to my feet. While I was lost in my thoughts, the sun had slid below the horizon and nighttime settled in, ink-blue and heavy. Tapping my phone, I check the time. _8:46 pm._

Car doors open and close, and the porch light flickers on as Rosalie's flip-flops slap-slap up the path—my mom must've heard the car pull in. I expect little footsteps and a squeal of "Daddy!" Instead, Rosalie steps into the glow with a sound asleep Livvy wrapped around her like a little koala.

I crack my knuckles. As much as I want Livvy warm and heavy in my arms, her cotton-candy breath against my neck, I don't reach for her, don't want to wake her. Avoiding Rosalie's eyes, I kiss Livvy's cheek and then jerk my head back toward the house in a motion to tell Rose to take her in. She passes. I sink back down to the porch step and stay frozen, like if I can keep still I can keep all the frustration that's crammed into my chest from exploding out of me.

"Why don't you just take her straight through to Edward's room, Rosalie." I hear the screen door swing open behind me. My eyes close against the anger that's twisting up like a spring, constricting my throat.

_Slap-slap. Slap-slap. _I blow out a breath, struggling to find my self-control.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

She sits down beside me, hands folded in her lap, knees together. "We just-"

"Lost track of time. I know, Rose."

"And my phone-"

"Died, right. There are payphones."

"It would've taken us that much longer to walk all the way to the other end of the Boardwalk. And, I mean, don't you think I'm capable-"

"Stop."

We sit in silence. I don't even know what I'm waiting for really. She's already apologized. Maybe a part of me thinks that making her sit here, right next to my anger, something will resonate with her. Some switch in her will turn on and she'll know how to be more considerate.

"Your girlfriend's cute."

I nod, chewing on my tongue and all the bitter words I want to spit at her.

"Livvy talked about her all day." There's a waver in her voice—not jealousy, but… resignation? "Bella this and Bella that. All day. Bella's hair is so pretty and so long. Bella loves pretzel M&Ms. Bella's teaching me to crochet and make origami."

I fight a smile. Then Rose speaks again, and hiding my smile is easy because it's gone.

"I'm not upset, you know? I'm glad you've found… someone. As long - as long as she's good to Livvy, it's none of my business."

I finally meet her eyes. "She adores Liv." The first words I've spoken and they sound as angry as I feel.

"Okay." Rose's hair falls in front of her eyes and she tucks it back. "Okay. Well… good." She pushes to her feet, car keys hanging off a curled finger. "I guess I should - I'm staying at Mom and Dad's, and it's late."

She takes a few steps backward, toward the car, but still looking at me, still waiting for me to say something.

"Rose?"

She tilts her head, waiting.

"Just… call next time, okay? I - just - _fuck_, Rose." My hand meets my forehead and rubs hard. "Just call. Don't leave me sitting here wondering if you've broken down or crashed the car or worse! Just fucking _call_."

Her finger swipes under her eye. "Okay."

I'm heading inside before her headlights swing out of the drive. Standing over my sleeping girl in my old bedroom, smelling the sea and sand and sweat on her skin, I stroke her tangled hair off her face, frowning at her pink cheeks. Is she just sleep-warm or is she sunburned? I kiss her forehead and she smiles in her sleep and the knot in my chest dissolves.

The door opens and Bella walks in. She puts her hand on my back and her head on my shoulder. Taking my hand, she twines our fingers. "She's safe."

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

"I am now." I let go of her hand and wrap my arm around her waist. "Let's go," I say against her head. "Let's get her home."

Bella doesn't spend the night. She says she wants to give us "Livvy and Daddy time." Before she leaves, though, she tells me she wants me to meet her parents. On my stoop right outside my door, kissing me she says, "Will you?"

"Yeah." I kiss her, my hand on her face.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Yes." I pull her closer. "Of course."


	3. Chapter 3

**High Maintenance**

**Chapter 3**

Just blocks away from Bella's house, Livvy strapped in her seat, I'm still not sure about this. When my mom called to tell me that my dad had scheduled a last minute client dinner and that she was unable to watch Liv, I called Bella right away to cancel.

"Can we do this another time?" I asked.

"Edward, my mom has been planning this dinner for two days. Just bring Livvy with you."

"Your parents..."

"Don't worry. My parents are cool."

"Cool?"

"Where do you think I get it?" I heard the smile in her voice, the confidence. "They're open-minded people. My mom'll love her."

As I find their address and pull up along the curb, something is eating at me. I try to shake it off. Bella accepted Livvy easily, I remind myself. I need to trust her.

Their house is small: a living room, a dining room, a kitchen, and I'd guess two bedrooms and two baths. But it's across the street from beachfront property, so it's far from cheap.

Bella meets us out front, greeting me with a smile and a kiss, before bending down to hug Liv tight. "Come on in," she says, opening the door.

I'm introduced to Bella's parents. When I shake their hands, Charlie holds my gaze, but Renee's eyes seem stuck to my chin.

"Thank you for having us both," I say. "At the last minute."

Without a word, Renee steps aside. She gives a wide-armed gesture for us to have a seat in the living room.

Livvy stumbles along behind me, holding onto my thigh. I feel her fingers digging.

A narrow bookshelf bulging with books stands tall against the wall behind the sofa. On the adjoining wall sits a desk holding more books, some picture frames, a vase, what looks like mail, and other odds and ends. There's too much on its surface for it to be used as a desk. With all the stuff they've crammed in here, the room appears even smaller than it is.

"Say hi to Mr. and Mrs. Swan, Liv." I reach back, trying to untangle Livvy from me, but she's holding strong.

Renee bends down, hands on her knees. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a big girl."

"I'm five," Livvy says, stepping out from behind me, holding her hand up, fingers spread wide. "I can ride a bike."

"I'm sure you can. They've got those training wheels, don't they?"

"Not on my bike. Daddy took 'em off." She wipes her nose with the back of her hand.

Renee straightens up, mumbling something to Charlie that I can't make out. There's something way too stiff about them. It's a stiffness I'm familiar with. I glance at Bella, and notice a little crease between her eyes.

Livvy still hasn't let go of my leg. A part of me wants to pick her up, but I don't want to encourage whatever this shyness is. It isn't like her.

Bella offers her hand to Livvy. "Want to see my old room?"

"Maybe they'd like a drink," Renee says.

"I think Livvy would rather see my dolls."

She excuses us, and Liv and I follow Bella to her room.

There's a basket of dolls and stuffed animals in a corner. Livvy takes them out one at a time, sitting them in a row against the wall. Sally's their teacher.

The room doesn't look like it's been changed at all since Bella moved out. Colors everywhere, just like her apartment. Red and orange blur together.

"I don't think your parents like me," I say under my breath. "You said they'd be cool with-"

"I know," Bella whispers. "I thought they - I don't know what's going on with them."

She tugs at her lips and then drops her hand, sliding her palms together. She avoids my eyes as she tells me we'll just hurry through dinner and get out of here. With a hand on my shoulder, she stands on tiptoe to kiss my cheek and something—the slowness of it, or the softness, lips barely touching—something is off.

… … …

Right as we sit down to dinner Livvy says she has an emergency.

"A what?" Renee asks.

Bella points back toward the living room. "Down the hall, second door to the right. She has to go to the bathroom," she explains to her mom. "Door next to mine."

I take Livvy and wait outside the bathroom for her. She's into this privacy thing now when she uses the toilet. Never mind that I give her baths, but I'm not allowed in the room when she pees. Hushed and not so hushed voices make their way to me from the dining room.

It's Renee's voice first. "A five year old? When you said daughter, you didn't mention that."

"What difference does age make?" Bella asks.

"You were _fifteen_ when she was born. How old is Edward?"

"Twenty-two."

"A teenaged pregnancy then. Did he even finish high school? A mistake like that ruins a person's future."

_Mistake? _I eye the closed door in front of me, hoping it stays closed, hoping these voices aren't carrying through the wood. I put my hand on the door as if that will somehow help matters.

"And we're not just talking his future here, are we?" Charlie says. "We're talking yours, Bella."

"Where's the little thing's mother?"

Little _thing?_ I feel sick. My fists tighten at my sides.

"What does he do for a living?" Charlie asks.

I drop my head into my hands, the heels of them digging into my eyes. I don't want to hear their reaction to Bella's answer. Why did I agree to bring Livvy here? I should've expected this.

_Don't worry_, I can still hear Bella saying. _They're open-minded._

No one is.

I start to wonder if I let things happen with Bella too fast. If I should've been more careful. Livvy's already to the point where she leans over the back of the couch with her face pressed to the window when we're expecting Bella. If something goes wrong between Bella and me...

"Liv?" I tap a knuckle to the door a few times. "You okay in there?"

When we return to the table, Renee asks Livvy if she washed her hands. With a nod Livvy invites her to smell them.

I'm too pissed for the satisfied smirk I'd like to show on my face right now. I try to eat, taking a bite, and when it doesn't go down easy, I take a drink.

"So, Edward." Charlie, at the head of the table to my right, clears his throat. "Level with me. What are your plans for the future? No college, I take it?"

"Well, actually I... Right now it's about getting through each day."

"You don't have any plans?" he asks, as if he's asking if I worship the devil.

"I do. I have plans. But I know that plans change so I try not to..." I adjust the napkin on my lap. "I try to be realistic about it."

"Ah, I see." He cuts a bite of salmon, chews, swallows, washes it down. "One mistake begets another."

I shoot a glance at Livvy next to me, who thankfully appears not to be paying attention, munching on her rice.

"Have you given Bella the courtesy of discussing the difference between what's realistic for you and what's realistic for her?"

"Dad."

I put my fork down and sit back. I know how this goes. It doesn't matter what I say. Judgement's made. This is like when you see movement out of the corner of your eye but you know there is nothing there. You don't even have to look. You're alone. That's what this is like. Everything I can say to stand up for myself is that movement. It means nothing. I can say it and it will be as if it isn't even there.

"Her last boyfriend was-"

Bella cuts her dad off. "A jerk."

"Well, Mike had promise," her mother says."Medical school."

"Edward takes classes," Bella says. "Online."

My eyes snap across to her.

"What?" she asks. I shake my head, lips tight.

Charlie's chuckle catches Livvy's attention. My chest clenches. The chuckle may have been short, it may have been low, but he's fucking laughing at me. In front of my daughter. Sweat and chills cover me like this conversation is walking all over my skin.

"And you'll have your degree in a semester, is that right?" he asks.

I say nothing. One class at a time, sometimes two, I know it'll be years before I have a degree. I'm not going to assist him in belittling me.

"How much longer will it take for you? I mean, say, in comparison to Bella? Someone going full time?"

"You're breaking Amendment Number Four," Livvy says.

"What's that, dear?" Renee asks.

"We don't compare ourselves to others."

"That's one way to keep stagnant," Charlie says, followed by Renee's, "You're a precocious thing, aren't you?"

I wipe my mouth on the cloth napkin before laying it on my plate.

"What's pecocious, Daddy?"

"Livvy-Bird, I'm not feeling well. Go get Sally from Bella's room. And put your shoes on like the big girl you are." I pat her back to hurry her along.

As Livvy stands up to leave the dining room, I also stand up. "The salmon was delicious. Thank you for your... hospitality-" I look to Charlie "-and your enlightenment. Sorry to cut this short."

Bella's standing across from me. "Edward, don't listen to them. Don't-"

"Don't listen? It isn't just me. It's - it's _her_, Bella." I point toward the hallway Livvy's just walked down.

"Edward, maybe we should-" Renee reaches for my arm, but I'm pretty sure my glare stops her. "You see, we know what it's like to struggle. And that's without juggling a child at your age. We want to protect Bella from that sort of struggle. You must understand..."

"I get it. I do. It's okay. I mean, no, it's not okay. Say what you want about me. I've heard it all before. But leave Olivia out of it. Nobody-" I lower my voice but keep it firm, leaning in toward the center of the table, making eye contact with Renee and then Charlie at either end of the table "-nobody slams my daughter and nobody _ever_ calls her a mistake. You want to protect your daughter? There's nothing I understand more than I understand that."

Livvy comes back, hair fallen over an eye, and her doll flopping in her hand. I pick her up, resting her against my hip and head toward the front door.

"Why are we leaving?" she whispers, too smart to believe I've come down with a sudden sickness.

"Because it's time," I whisper back.

"Is it 'cause I talked about the amendment?"

"No, baby."

"Is it 'cause I'm pecocious?"

Walking into the night, I kiss her head. "It's nothing you did or said. And precocious. It's not about what it means. It's about what it is. It's a word adults use when they come across a kid who's smarter than they are." The sound of the ocean is loud and I barely notice it as I buckle her up in her seat.

"I didn't finish dinner."

"We'll stop for a burger and fries." I tighten her straps. "We'll eat at that place by the beach. That place you like with the patio by the beach." I can't afford it but we're doing it.

She claps as I push the front seat back in place. Bella's hand lands on my shoulder.

"I'll go with you," she says.

I turn to her. "Not tonight."

"Why not?"

"This isn't... we're not..." I start to climb into the truck.

"Edward, don't go yet. Talk to me."

"Talk to you." I shut the door and speak low. "You want me to talk to you? Where should I start? Should I start where you assured me your parents would be open to Liv? Or should I start where they let their disappointment in your choice of boyfriend spread to calling my daughter names? And a fucking mistake? She could've heard that! Or maybe I should start where you were condescending to me."

"How was I condescending?"

"Bella, really? 'He takes classes online.'"

"But you do."

"Yeah, I know that. Thank you. I don't need that listed as the one thing that could appease your parents. Especially not after..."

"After what?"

"Forget it. Forget the fuck out of it. I gotta go. Just leave me to lead my nowhere life and to ruin my daughter's life while I'm at it."

I reach for my truck door, but Bella grabs my arm.

"Edward. Stop. You're scaring me. I'm afraid that..."

I spin around. "What?"

"I'm afraid you're - you are, aren't you?" Maybe it's the look on my face, maybe all my anger and fear is in plain view, but she says, "You're ending this, aren't you?"

I don't answer.

"Edward?"

I rub at my eyebrow, pulling on skin.

"Edward, don't." She lifts her hand to my cheek and I wish that touch could do whatever she's trying to make it do.

I soften my voice. "It just. It might not be the best time for me to get serious."

With a nod she pulls her lips into her mouth and glances off into the distance and then back at me. "Maybe that is something you could've told me _before_ I..." her voice falls quiet, a descent, a fading out "...fell in love with you."

My heart jumps and then plummets, like it's just leaping out of me. "Oh, God, Bella." My hand meets my chest, reaches for her, and then back to my chest. "Bella. I can't..."

She's shaking her head and backing away. Her eyes glisten in the dark, tears building.

I take her arm, just a light hold, but it's enough to still her. "No, I can't talk about this here." I look through the window. Light from the moon casts a glow over Livvy's face as her head rests against the seat, her eyes blinking to a close. She looks beautiful and angelic, innocent and vulnerable, and this sight reminds me of how much she needs me, relies on me. Turning my attention back to Bella I say, "I'll call you, okay? We'll talk tomorrow." I lean forward, a hand on her shoulder and kiss her cheek.

She avoids eye contact, averting her gaze to the ground or over my shoulder. "Yeah," she says, her voice flat. "Call me."

… … …

The ocean's pounding against the sand as if fueled by fury. It's hard to hear Livvy's non-stop chatter over its roar, over the wind howling through like this is a corridor created just for its amusement. It picks up used napkins, tossing them from table to table before throwing them on the cement.

Resting my head on my hands, I stretch my neck, facing the sky. Despite the wind, the night is clear, and every star in existence seems to be shining. This sky projects that the world is beautiful. It's a fucking lie.

"Daddy?"

Ketchup is smeared across her cheek, and I grab the napkin I've jammed under my leg. I shake my head as I rub it over her face.

"Owww. Da-ad. Stop it." She frowns at me, blue eyes narrowed, too much like Rose. "Why are you so grumpy?"

I zip her sweater up to her chin. "Hurry up and finish your dinner." The strain in my voice echoes my nerves—stretched like a band pulled tight. I chuck the napkin onto the empty space on the table in front of me, and the wind takes it immediately, tumbling it across the table and to the ground. Fucking perfect.

"Aren't you hungry?" Livvy holds out a fry in her sauce-and-salt coated fingers. "Why aren't you having any dinner? Did you fill up at Bella's mommy's house?"

I breathe deep through my nose, and push her hand away. _Because I can't fucking afford to. _"I'm not hungry. Eat."

The fry disappears into her mouth and she reaches for her grease-smeared glass. I'm about to remind her to hold it with two hands when she sets it back on the table—off-kilter. It falls with a clunk, spilling lemonade all over the table. I watch the liquid seep between the wood slats, my teeth tight to stop the harsh words from erupting out of me.

"I'm sorry." The wobble in my daughter's voice forces me to ignore the anger and frustration that have been simmering under my skin from the moment we stepped through the Swans' front door and turned their nice, ordered little world upside down.

My eyes close for just longer than a blink as I grasp for patience and self-control. "It's okay. It happens." The server I signal seems to disagree, looking at me like I've tipped half a bottle of red wine over her finest wool carpets as she tries to sop up the mess with a few more napkins.

"Can we get another one?" I ask.

She looks at me like she doesn't comprehend.

"Another one?" I point to the empty glass on her tray. "And a water for me."

By the time I get Livvy home, bathed and into bed, I'm craving a beer—or an entire bottle of Bacardi.

"Daddy? I haven't had a story."

From the couch, I call back to her, "It's late. We can read two tomorrow."

"But I can't sleep without a story."

"Try."

"Da-ad-"

My voice is hard, stamping on each syllable. "Olivia. Enough. Go to sleep."

She's quiet for a minute, and then I hear a soft sniffle and self-disgust is acid in my blood, eating at me until I'm on my feet headed to her room.

I switch on the lamp by her bed, and my hand smooths over her hair. "I'm sorry, Livvy-Bird."

She sniffles again but doesn't speak, and I lean close to kiss her cheek. She smells like lavender bubble bath as my lips meet skin wet with her tears. Tears I made fall.

"I'm sorry for shouting, baby. It's not your fault. I'm just tired, okay? Sometimes people just get tired." I fall to her bed.

She nods against the pillow.

"Liv?"

"Yeah?" I hate that I put that tentativeness in her voice.

"Amendment One?"

The tiniest smile meets her lips. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too, Livvy-Bird. Now, what are you going to read to me?"

She shakes her head, her hair falling across the pillow, her mouth widening with a yawn. "You read to me."

"Yeah, baby. Of course."

Sliding out a book from the shelf above Livvy's bed, I push Bella's tear-filled eyes and her parents and the whole messed up night from my mind. I let myself focus until this room—the sound of my voice, the little hand in mine, the eyelashes closing against a soft cheek—is my entire universe.

… … …

I call Bella the next day as promised, but can't get through. I leave a voicemail. When she returns my call, I'm on a four-hour wall retexturing job, unable to get to my phone. She doesn't leave a voicemail. But when I get home, sweaty and dusty and splattered with plaster, Bella's there, waiting on my stoop.

She's wearing her hair in a low ponytail, strands falling around the front. She tucks them behind her ear as she drops her head. I don't like the way she looks down as if she's not allowed to look at me, or can't.

Inside I offer her a drink, but she declines. And we stand there, yards between us. I can't bring myself to step closer. She's not wearing any makeup and she looks tired. She tugs at the hem of her shorts. I scrape some plaster off the back of my hand with a thumbnail that could use a trim.

"Don't you... I mean, don't you have anything to say?"

I don't really know what to say so I tell her that, which is apparently the wrong thing. She starts to leave. I move faster than her, cutting her off and blocking the door.

She backs away, face to the floor like she's about to get punished. "If you're going to end this, just end it. Just rip that band-aid right off. This is - this is..."

End it? _The End?_ My insides recoil from the thought. "I just - I need some time. I need to figure this out—figure us out. I want this to work. I just don't know if it can. I need some time."

"You don't know if it can? You want me to wait for you until you decide whether you want me or not?"

"Yes. No. Fuck. Bella."

"Well, I think it's pretty clear what I want. I want you." She looks up at me. "And if you want me, well, here we are. Right?"

I can't hold her stare. I look past her.

"Oh," she says, and her tone of voice, the disappointment in it, has my eyes meeting hers again. "Okay. I've been - I've presumed too much." She gives a fast shake of her head.

"What?"

"No, I just thought that you-" she points a finger at me. "I thought... but, okay." She runs shaky fingers around her ear. "So you want me to give you time. How long? How long should I wait for you with my breath held and my fingers crossed?" She blinks back tears and just seeing them there is a blow to my chest.

"Bella..."

"No, just tell me how long. A couple of days? A week? A year?" She wipes under each eye with a knuckle. "Or maybe it's a don't call you, you'll call me, kind of thing." She laughs at that and wipes more tears and I have no idea what's going on or what to say or what she wants me to say. But I wish she'd stop crying. I want to tell her not to cry, or I want to wipe her tears myself, kiss them off her face. But she's mad and I don't know what I'm allowed to do at this point.

I move to the couch, collapsing into it, and it makes a creaking sound that reminds me I need a new couch, which reminds me of the coffee can of cash I have in the cupboard, my savings for a new couch. Every choice in my life is thought through and planned. It has to be. I lean forward, arms on my knees and look up at her. "Listen. You get to think about today. Just today. If you don't want to think about tomorrow, or next week or ten years from now, you don't have to. But I do. Every day. I have to think about every day and how my daughter is or will be affected. I can't bring her into something that..." I shake my head. "Dating you, having you meet her, all of that, I'm thinking future. You know? Family. And if you and I are together, your family is a part of that future. I just need to think about it. I need to think-"

"I wasn't aware that by dating me, you're dating my whole family."

"That's what I'm saying. When Liv's involved, that is what I'm doing." If her family becomes my family, they become Liv's family. And her family, they were cruel to Olivia.

How much of what I'm thinking can I tell Bella? How much would make her mad? I remember back, four years ago, the last fight Rose and I had before we broke up. We said awful things to each other. True things—so true they can never be taken back. It's easy to take back the things you say that you don't mean, but taking back something true, I think that's impossible. I can't talk about this with Bella now. I can't accidentally say something that I might not ever be able to take back.

"But we don't have to see them. My parents, they, they'll come around. I know them. We'll just avoid them until they do."

"That isn't, that's not realistic, Bella."

"So then what, Edward? What? My parents are my parents. That doesn't change, ever. So if that's the bottom line for you, is this it?"

"No. I'm asking you for time. For fucking time, all right?" I stand up and I'm losing control of my voice level. "Give me _time_. I need to just - I need to take a step back." She's trying to make me talk about things I haven't even fully thought through yet.

"Okay." Her voice is quiet but not soft. Each word is abrupt. An edge to it, like it's hitting a wall. "All right. You want time. You got it."

She turns and walks out the door. I'm the one against the wall.

… … …

The walls are too white. They glare at me, and I stare at them for too long. I find cracks and fill them in with spackle.

There are places in my apartment where I can feel Bella. I swear I can feel her. And it happens unexpectedly. On the couch watching TV, something will make me laugh or Livvy laugh and I'll look over at Bella, actually expecting her to be looking back, knowingly, nodding, smiling. In the morning when I wake up, she's there in the bed, her warmth, but when I circle my hand around, she's gone, that side of the bed naked and cold.

In the coming days, I drag myself to work like I have chains attached to my ankles. Dinners with Livvy are quiet except when she's talking. I don't say anything unless she asks me a question, and sometimes she has to ask me more than once. I look around and I see my life, Livvy and me, and I wonder if I'm enough for her, if I've done this right. This small apartment. Every piece of furniture in this place is a hand-me-down, except for the kitchen table which I built with my dad. Livvy's furniture came from a cousin and is the only matching set we have. My bed used to belong to my parents. They gave it to me when they bought a new one. The dresser and night table are still the same from my teenage years. The couch was my grandmother's. I bought the TV from Emmett and he threw in the stand.

I look around and know that I have hopes for Livvy that are bigger than what I have to offer her. I look around and I understand Bella's parents more than ever.

I feel like I've spent years building a boat that doesn't float.

I'm sinking. Will Livvy sink, too? Would Bella?

I'm silent when I give Livvy a bath and she wants me to play. She wants me to make motorboat noises and to talk back to her toys and to make funny shapes with her soapy hair. I can't.

And when she's wrapped in a towel on the bathroom floor, and I'm combing her tangles out, she does it again, she asks for a braid. Not even a regular braid, a French one. I don't even know what that means. I tell her I'll give her an Irish braid and I twist her hair to the ends, show it to her in the mirror, calling it Irish.

When I let go, it unravels.

I read a book to her in her bedroom, and then she reads one to me. I shut her light off.

In my room, I sit at the end of my bed, my head in my hands, trying to get my thoughts into some kind of order, thankful for the quiet, for no questions I have to answer, for no voice begging me to play or to read another story or to sing a fucking song of sixpence.

"I wanna sleep with you tonight."

I look up. "Not tonight. Go back to bed."

"I wanna sleep in your bed."

"No."

"Yes."

"You're a big girl. You have your own bed."

"Here." She points to my bed.

"Olivia." I use my firmest voice. It's a warning. To her. To me.

"I wanna sleep with you."

"I need to be alone. One night alone."

"I'm scared of the dark."

"You have a nightlight."

"Daddy-"

"I told you I need to be alone. Go back to your room and just leave me alone!"

She stares, eyes like saucers. She turns around, walks to her room. But I don't miss the chin-quiver or the watering eyes.

I run a heavy hand through my hair and get up. I go to her room. She's sitting on her bed, singing to Sally as she rocks her in her arms._ Bird Song._ Another crack in my heart.

I sit at the end of her bed. "Bird?" I open my arms. "Come here."

She looks at me like I'm offering her the one Christmas present she asked for. She drops Sally and crawls into my lap. My arms close around her, rocking her. "I'm sorry, Livvy-Bird." I kiss her face, sticky with tears. "I'm sorry." I push back strands of hair that are stuck to her cheek. "I love this Bird," I tell her, "more than anything."

Behind her, above her bed, I notice one of her shoe boxes sitting on the shelf I hung for her. "What's that doing up there?" I point to it.

"Those are my butterflies."

I pull the box down, set it on her bed and open it. Inside are all kinds of paper butterflies in different colors and patterns. Livvy starts pulling them out one by one. "I made this one. Bella made this one. I made that one. Bella made that one." As she's showing them to me, I notice writing on the underside of each one. I take one out. It's Bella's handwriting. "I wish to read a whole chapter of Charlotte's Web by myself." And another one: "I wish to surf someday, standing up."

"What are these?"

"My wishes and dreams. Bella says they're so important they should be wrote down and saved."

I swallow and feel a knot going down. Bella did this for her. She wrote down all of my daughter's wishes, even the insignificant ones. She taught her something and gave her a gift at the same time. Something that can't be taken from her. A sense of importance and purpose.

"You want a skateboard?" I ask, reading another wish. "And a fish?" I laugh. These are perfect. A fish I can do.

"What would you name your fish?"

"Hot Lava."

"You've really thought this through." I pull a colored pencil from the decorated soup can on her dresser and write Hot Lava on the fish wish. "Now it's official." I put the butterflies away and tuck the box back up on the shelf. "You know what I wish? I wish Livvy would come sleep in my room. What do you say?"

She nods, and I pick her up.

Tucked in next to me, her voice is quiet like the dark. "Daddy? I miss Bella."

_Me, too, _I think. I don't know what to tell her, though, so I say nothing.

"Why doesn't she want to see us anymore?"

My cracked heart seems to split wide open. Every breath stings like hot water washing over a burst blister.

"Did I make her mad?"

"No, baby. Not at all." I push my shoulders back, shift my weight, try to lose the waver in my voice. I don't know what's true. I don't know if Bella will want to see me again. I give her what I can, what I do know, even if she's never said it. "Bella loves you, a lot."

"Can she come to my birthday party?"

I rub up and down my cheek. "I'm sure she will." And I'll make sure she does. Even if we're not together, even if she can't forgive me for pushing her away, I know she'll come—for Livvy's sake.

Liv yawns, her "okay" distorted as her lips stretch wide.

"Sleep now, Livvy-Bird." I sing her _A Song of Sixpence_ until she falls asleep. It's hard because she always giggles when the blackbird snaps off the maid's nose.

I watch her in her sleep, her hands folded on top of the covers, her lips turned up in the corners. She looks like an angel. She is an angel. I kiss her forehead. "I love you, my Bird."

… … …

It's a hot June day, sun that burns and wind that soothes. A beach day. It would be really great if I were rapping my knuckles on this door to take Bella to the beach. Her body in a bikini. Rubbing sunscreen on her back, my lips following. Running and falling into waves.

Maybe someday I'll be here for that. Someday soon..

I know she's home, not only because she'd told me she planned to take finals week off work, but also because I saw her car in her parking space.

Seth opens the door, but he stops when he sees me, holding it only as wide as his shoulders. He leans through the gap. I catch a flash of anger in his eyes, jaw set. He looks like one spark, one wrong word will set him off. "Handyman."

"Hey, Seth. Is she-"

I hear Bella's quiet voice, "Is that Edward?" and my stomach jumps to my chest.

Seth looks over his shoulder, and I picture Bella curled up on that faded red couch, pillows piled around her. "Yep."

"Is Livvy with him?"

Seth leans out farther, scanning the walkway in both directions. "Nah."

"Then tell him I'm not fucking home."

He raises his eyebrows. _You heard her_.

Sighing, I scrub my hands over my face, as if I can wash off all the frustration. "Seth—just hear me out."

"Why isn't he going? What's hard to understand about _She's not home_?"

Seth opens the door a little wider and steps outside, pulling it half-closed behind him. "Seriously, dude. I like you. But I'd also really like to hit you. All she has to do is ask… and she probably will if we take too long. So talk fast."

The thought of Bella telling Seth to hit me could make me smile if I didn't want to, _need _to, talk to her so bad. There are things she has to understand about being with me, and Livvy. The unsturdy package we come in with all its torn corners.

"I know you get it. Why I did this. The same reason you're standing out here blocking me from Bella." I look him over. He's big, but if I really wanted to get past him I could. I can feel it in every muscle.

He circles his finger, like, _Keep going_.

"You're standing here, prepared to hit me for her sake. You have to get that I'd do anything for Livvy, to keep her safe, to stop her from getting hurt."

He frowns, and his head jerks, like he's stopping himself from nodding.

"Even if it meant denying what I want. If it was best for Liv, I'd do it."

"I get that." His arms fold across his chest. "But why are you here, then? To tell her she's great but it's not gonna happen? Break her heart a little more?"

"No. I want her to know that I think-" I shake my head "-I think we belong together. And well, I - we miss her. And I..." I start to tell him about the butterflies, but decide it's none of his business. Those are Livvy's secret. Livvy's and Bella's.

"You what?" Bella's standing in the doorway, hair piled on top of her head, her face pale.

"I miss you."

"No, before that."

"We belong together," I say, trying. "The three of us: you, Livvy, me."

"Bella-" Seth tries to nudge her out of the way, blocking with his big shoulder. "You said you didn't want him to think he could just-"

"I know what I said. Get out of my way, please." She's slapping at his shoulder, her eyes fixed on me.

"I need to talk to you, Bella." I don't dare avert my eyes from hers, afraid I'll lose her gaze.

"Seth." She pulls his shoulder until he steps aside. She gestures with a finger for me to follow her. I look at Seth as I pass, wondering if he'll stop me. He stares back at me, but doesn't move.

I follow her to her bedroom, dodging the piles of cushions and beanbags in the living room.

I hear Seth call Bella's name. She pokes her head out her door. "It's okay. Promise." She closes the door and turns to me. I don't know what to do, sit or stand. Lean against the wall?

"So, you're ready to talk and you just expect me to be ready to listen?"

I push fingers into my hair and breathe deep. "Will you? Listen?" I look at my shoes, then back at her.

She lifts an eyebrow, lips tight. "Talk."

"Your dad-" I raise a finger when her lips part "-was right about one thing. The things that are realistic for us, they're different. My reality is different. I-I want to tell you about it. I want you to understand it, so that if you choose it… I mean…"

Her hand finds mine, just for a second and then it's gone. "I get it. Go on."

Fingers on my temples, I push in circles. "It's hard. Bella, you've seen Livvy on her best behavior. When she's excited to see you, trying to impress you. I mean, she wants you to like her, you know? But, being around Livvy can be like lighting a match. Sometimes it burns steady, sometimes it blows out easy, and other times, it's like lighting up while drenched in gasoline. A Livvy-explosion."

She lets out a small laugh.

"You already know this about kids. But it's different living it. Living it is kid-vomit all over your bed at two in the morning, tantrums in grocery stores; it's her refusing to wear anything but the magenta tu-tu for the seventh day in a row, and it's never knowing when you'll have to cancel appointments.

"But it's not only her, you know?" My gaze drops to my hands and I push aside my pride. "It's-it's financially. We're not-"

"Edward, you don't-"

"No, I do. This is why I took time, thinking all this through. You should hear it because the thing is, Bella, being with me, it's your choice." I shove my hands into my pockets.

"Mine? But I thought-"

"Just, let me?"

She nods for me to continue, her face softer now, everything about it, her eyes glistening, watery. She pulls her hair down, wrapping her band around her wrist and sliding her fingers through the ends, smoothing. It's all wavy and knotted. She spreads her fingers to work through the knots. But her face is intent on mine. I don't think she's paying any attention to her hair. It's all automatic.

"Like your mom said, it's a struggle. And I can't promise that it won't always be a struggle for me. We have small Christmases, small birthdays. I'd have to save up for years to take Liv on vacation. And sometimes, I go without so Livvy doesn't have to."

Her forehead creases, her eyes on the metal post of her bed. She wraps a hand around the metal ball and just rubs back and forth on it. It's my turn to touch her hand. "I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad for us. It's hard, but it's just life. With a baby at seventeen, you grow up fast."

"I'm not looking for a provider," she says. "This isn't the fifties, even if my parents are acting like it is. What do you think I'm going to school for?"

"Still, you should know it all." I hold onto the post right below her hand to ground myself for the things I least want to talk about. "There's judgement, too. The assumptions people make about a young parent. They assume I can't raise Liv to be anything but a loser. That we're just a drain on the welfare system. Disapproving looks, unsolicited advice. And kids are kids, right? They get tired and cranky, they have tantrums. But people see me with her, and it's - it's not her just being a normal five-year-old, it's me being a bad father. And you being with me, with us, you'll get it, too." I don't want that for Livvy, and I don't want that for Bella, but it's the reality of our lives. If Bella chooses us, I want her to choose us with her eyes open.

"Edward-"

"Wait. There's just one more thing." I look at her, and I wonder if she can see it in my eyes. Or see it pulsing under my skin as I step closer. Maybe she can't, and I'm not going to let the chance slip by again. So I take her hand and I weave my fingers through hers as I say the words I've kept only for Livvy for so long. I put everything I have and everything I am on the table. "I love you, Bella. I love you."

Her fingers grip mine back. Her eyelids shake and her beautiful deep brown eyes fill with tears. They spill over, and this time I can wipe them away, and so I do with the back of a knuckle and the lightest touch. Her lips move, like she's telling herself something, and then she sighs and looks away.

"You know, I always thought my parents were pretty cool. I never really went through that oh-my-God-you're-so-embarrassing phase. But I swear to God, Edward, I've _never_ been so disgusted, just so completely mortified, as I was by my mom and dad that night. The things they said to you… in front of Livvy." She pulls her hair over her shoulder.

"Just the absolute hypocrisy, you know? I've grown up being taught not to judge, to expect the best from people, not the worst. The way they talked to you. You talk about the judgement you face - I wonder if you can understand how sick it made me feel that my own parents were the ones doing the judging. If I had thought for a minute..." She shakes her head. "I wouldn't have asked you to bring Livvy." Her eyes meet mine and something in them hardens. "And you - you wouldn't let me say any of this that night. You just drove away and shut me out." Her fingers slide into her hair at the top of her head, and her gaze falls to the floor. "And after I said that I loved you. I thought that you didn't, that you didn't..."

I lift her chin. "I did and I do and I'm sorry." Her tears are back. Instead of wiping them away I kiss them.

She lets out a breath. "I'm sorry, too."

I slide the back of my finger down her cheekbone and then pull her in close to me, wrapping her up tight.

She turns her head to the side, her face against my heartbeat and she talks into my chest. "The day you met them, before you got there, I told my parents that I loved you. And then, to have them speak to you like that..."

"Shh."

The hurt in Bella's voice tears at me. I think about how it would destroy me to ever be responsible for making Livvy feel like this. "People have double-standards when it comes to their own kids, Bella." I pull away just far enough to give her a small smile.

She returns the smile. "And you were so nice to them - you're _still_ being gracious about them."

I put her arms around my back and wrap her tight again. I need her in my arms. I run my lips and my nose over her temple. "They want to protect you from what comes with being with someone like me."

"Someone like you?" She lets go of me, her eyes narrowed in a way I don't understand. She crosses to her window and looks out. "Someone like you. Hard-working. Protective. Giving. Someone who does the right thing just because it's the right thing to do. Your mom told me about how you put up with everything Rosalie puts you through, all for Livvy's sake." She turns from the window and looks at me. "I know friends of my parents who wouldn't or couldn't do something like that for their kids." There's an intensity in her gaze that makes my breath falter.

"Edward. You-" she points a finger at me "-are exactly the kind of guy I'd want _my_ daughter to be with."

I'm speechless. My mind is filled with this staticky buzzing, and I shake my head, trying to clear it.

"Don't shake your head."

I blink at her and sit down on her bed, trying to wrap my brain around what she just said.

"You don't see yourself very clearly. You're so… used to people's judgement that I think, maybe - you've started to believe it." She moves across the room to stand in front of me. She puts one hand on my shoulder, the other rakes through my hair and pushes my head back so I'm looking up at her.

Her eyes are serious, the tears pooling in them again. "You're not ruining her life, Edward. And you're not going nowhere." She slides her hand from my hair down my face. "You're a good dad, and you're giving that little girl everything she needs. Everything that really matters."

There's a sob stuck in my throat and I force it down—keep it trapped inside. I can't stop the tears that slide from the corners of my eyes, though. I wipe them away, embarrassed.

Standing in front of me, knees to knees, she takes my hand. "Whatever comes with being with you and Livvy, I want it. I'll deal with it. Because I'm so in love you. Both of you. You're worth it."

If I thought I had her wrapped up tight before, she doubles it up on me, squeezing the breath out of me with her hug, arms around my neck.

I stand with her, my arms at her waist and my lungs in my throat. "I'm so in love with you, too."

Just as Bella lifts up to kiss me, I see the clock behind her and I'm swearing, practically into her mouth. "We need to talk more, but I have to get Livvy from school."

She pulls me by the hand. "I'll come."

We kind of trip over each other on the way out the door as she grabs her keys and slides on shoes. When Bella nearly falls headfirst down the concrete stairs and I grab her by the hips to steady her, I can't take it anymore. So there, on the stairs, her a step higher than me, I push her back against the brick wall. With my hands in her hair, I take a second to just look at her. She starts to say my name, but I cut her off with a kiss. I pour all the things we've said and all the things we still need to say into it.

Out of breath, we smile at each other for a beat, and then we're stomping down the rest of the stairs and clambering into my truck, laughing like we're amazed.

As I drive, Bella's feet are up on the dash, where they belong. I trace a vein in her foot, and her hand follows mine back to the gearstick.

"What about my parents?" she asks eventually. She's looking away from me, staring out her window.

Making a right turn, I sigh. "Well… who really gets along with their in-laws anyway?"

"In-laws?"

I glance at her. There's a smile twitching her lips. "You know what I mean."

"I do." She giggles, looking at me and I can't help but chuckle.

"Funny." I pull into the parking lot and turn the truck off. The bell won't ring for a few more minutes. "I won't let them hurt Livvy. I won't take that chance. She can't be around your parents unless they understand what they can't say around her. Five year olds are smarter than most people think. She picks up on too much. You'll have to see your parents. But if I go, unless they get where I'm coming from with Liv, she'll have to stay with my mom or something."

Bella nods, her smile fading. Her eyes fall and I hate that being with me could put a strain on her relationship with her parents. They might come around, but they might not, and that's something neither of us have any power over.

"Hey." I reach over and touch her cheek. "What happens is up to them. I can't change it. You can't change it."

She catches my hand and holds it to her face. "I know."

"But no matter what, I want to be with you."

She nods, her cheek brushing against our joined hands. She turns to kiss my fingertips. The words are on my lips when the bell rings, startling us both.

Shaking my hand off, Bella's out of the car in a flash. "What?" she asks, when I scoff, closing the driver's side door with a thud. "You're not the only one I've missed, you know."

The feeling is evidently mutual. When Bird comes bursting out of her classroom, backpack bouncing, hair escaping from pigtails in a mess, her whole face seems to light up.

"Bella!" She flies straight into Bella's arms.

Seeing this, my heart feels bigger than my chest. I can actually feel it in there like it's pressing against my ribcage. When they part, both of them looking at me with tears in their eyes, and my eyes matching, I say, "What a bunch of crybabies."

Listening to the two of them chatter the entire way home then disappear straight into Livvy's bedroom, there's this lightness in me—like I'm breathing easier. I can't even find it in me to regret the fact Bella and I haven't had the chance to "make up" all the way yet. Seeing her put Livvy first like this—it's like proof positive of what I've already come to believe. She belongs with us.

… … …

It was Bella's idea. I provided the fishing wire.

We're in Livvy's room, stringing the butterflies across her ceiling, Livvy directing us. "I want the pink and purple ones there." She points above her bed. "And the blue and green ones there." She points above her window. "And the yellow and orange ones there." She points above her door.

We all three lie on our backs horizontally on Livvy's bed and look up at our work.

"The box is empty," Livvy says.

"You're just going to have to start over and refill it," Bella says.

"And hang those ones?"

"I'll have butterflies all over the apartment."

Bella takes my hand. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Liv picks out the movie, I scoop the ice cream—Bella's "little bit" and Livvy's "lots and lots." They both get the same amount.

The movie's already started when I join them with three bowls. Livvy's tucked up on Bella's lap on the couch. She claps her hands and reaches for the bowl of ice cream, but I shake my head, telling her she has to sit on the floor to eat it so she doesn't spill ice cream all over our brand new couch. I saved up long enough for it, there's no way I'm risking kid-stains.

"Daddy?" Her lips are covered in melted ice cream, and a cluster of multi-colored sprinkles are stuck to her cheek.

"Yeah, Livvy-Bird?"

"No questions 'til the end. Don't interrupt the movie."

"Yes, ma'am."

Bella reaches forward and swipes the sprinkles off Liv's cheek with her napkin.

When Liv's attention is reclaimed by fish adventures, I set the dirty bowls on the coffee table, and slide my hand around Bella's waist. I tug at her, poking her in the side until she wriggles close enough for me to pull her sideways into my lap. I sweep her hair to the side and kiss her neck, chuckling against her as she squirms.

When kisses become nips, and my tongue slides across her skin, she hisses at me to behave.

"Liv, how much longer is this movie?"

She knows it inside out and front to back—she's watched it way too many times since her birthday.

"It just started! They haven't even gone through the jellies and met Crush, duuuude. And you're breaking my rule."

"Okay." My fingers tangle in the ends of Bella's hair, twisting it and wiping it against my cheek like a paintbrush.

Bella turns her head, scowling at me, but I can see the gleam in her eye—she can't wait for bedtime either. I rest my arm over her knees, locking her to me. She squirms a little in my lap, I think on purpose, and she chuckles at the groan I muffle against her skin as she wriggles and worsens the situation I've got going on there.

She kisses me on the nose, her eyes saying everything—_Later_—then slips off my lap to sit on the floor beside Livvy. Bella leans against my legs, her neck resting between my knees. My hands move to her hair, my fingers combing through it.

"Bella?"

She sighs. "Yes, Edward?

"Do you know how to braid?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Teach me?"


End file.
